


The Winter in My Heart

by PalestAzure



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: Character Analysis, Character Death, Dual POVs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Internal Conflict, Interracial Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Personal Growth, Romantic Soulmates, Self-Doubt, Sexy Times, Workplace Relationship, sliding doors narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 132,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23259748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalestAzure/pseuds/PalestAzure
Summary: There’s only so much Zyra can take. Ethan’s hot and cold behavior towards her finally reaches a breaking point. But it isn’t until Zyra receives some tragic news that leads to her making a choice. A choice to reach out to Ethan or to not. Does she CALL him or does she WITHHOLD the information? Her choice will create a different path towards the evolution of their relationship, one that will lead to either being with him or being without him.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 150





	1. The Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> This series is inspired by the “Sliding Doors” narrative structure, where one choice can lead to two separate realities. I finished a book called “Anything You Do Say” by Gillian McAllister, and she follows this same narrative structure. Thus, I was inspired by it and wanted to try something new by using this structure in the first person. The chapters will also alternate POVs between Zyra and Ethan.
> 
>   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra makes a decision about her relationship with Ethan. And she is finally able to tell him exactly how she feels. But her decision will set the tone for what is to come.

_Ten, Eleven… Fifteen_. 

They’re all here. I want to ensure that I return the journals in the exact condition and number from when Ethan lent them to me. I can imagine his reaction if he notices something out of order or missing. 

_This is the last time I trust you with my things._

He’d give me his usual stern look, one reserved for expressing his disapproval. But all I would need to say is one thing. 

_You can decide how I can make it up to you._

His eyes would then crinkle at the corners, and he would give me an amused smile. Our little interactions like these are something I secretly look forward to. Because they show that he is feeling something there. Something for me. 

I walk through the glass door to his office. It automatically closes behind me. A slight chill from the air catches between the door and tickles the back of my neck. 

Ethan is staring at some CT scans hanging on the board.  
  
“Good morning, Ethan.” I place the stack of journals on top of his desk. 

He doesn’t respond. I always know when his mind is turning and he’s disappeared into his thoughts. 

I stand next to him. My hands are in the pocket of my lab coat, and I look at him from the side. His arms are folded across his chest. His brows are pulled together in a frown. His gaze is laser-focused on the scans in front of him. His eyes glide over the images as if soaking up pieces of information for his brain to put together. To decipher. That’s my Ethan Ramsey. The doctor of mysteries. But perhaps calling him _mine_ is too presumptuous. 

“I returned your journals. Fascinating readings.”

“Cardiospasm.” His mind has shifted to me. His voice is serious, instructional. But I smile at what he is doing. He continues, “Dysphagia. Mild to severe chest pain. Regurgitation. Coughing. Weight Loss.” His gaze moves from the scans towards my direction. “Need any more clues?”  
  
“Achalasia.”  
  
“Which is?”

“A rare disorder of the esophagus. Leads to the inability to push down food due to the failure of the lower esophageal sphincter to relax.”  
  
I catch the corner of his mouth quirk up at my answer.

This is a little game that we play. I call it a game. He calls it a required assessment of my _walking disease encyclopedia_. He can deny it all he wants, but it’s a game because I give it to him right back. Though I have yet to stump him. 

Before I can recall and verbalize a disease I had read in one of the journals, the satisfaction on his face has already dissolved. His hard focus is back on the scans. I study them with him. They are of a patient’s head and neck.

“What would this patient do if this team were cut?” He asks without diverting his gaze. But his expression becomes sullen. There’s a lingering sadness in his tone. I can almost hear a sigh forming in his throat. 

I place a hand on his arm. The gesture forces him to turn his head to look at me. I am now staring into the same sorrowful eyes with which I alone am trusted. Ones that I had become quite accustomed to during the entire situation with Dr. Banerji. Ones that made my heart slowly break over time. Ones that allowed me to see deep into the secret pain he longed to keep hidden from the world. Ones that urged me to not leave him alone. 

I give his arm a squeeze. “We will beat this. We will find a way to keep this team together for patients like this one. And this is something we can control. We won’t go down without a fight, Ethan.” I then slightly lean towards him and whisper as if I’m sharing a secret, “And I know you won’t.”

His arm slowly falls to his side. I feel his fingers entwine with mine with his thumb caressing along my knuckles. We lock onto each other’s eyes. I know he’s contemplating every word I just said. I can see it in the way his pupils subtly dilate while he looks into mine, searching for reassurance and comfort. And like always, I give it to him without hesitation. 

But my focus on him is cut when I hear the door slide open. We quickly pull apart.

“Are those the scans from the new patient?” I turn around to meet Baz. June is walking in behind him. 

Ethan clears his throat, hiding the vulnerability from mere seconds ago behind the now serious and composed leader of this team. “Yes. I will get you all up to date.”

We follow our same routine of brainstorming ideas and feeding off of each other’s questions. I am feeling more confident in the quality of my participation with the team. We brainstorm and theorize for about 30 minutes before Ethan sets us off on our assignments.  
  
“I’ll get those blood tests ordered.” I begin to follow the other two team members out.  
  
“Lewis, stay a moment. I need a word.”  
  
Baz and June have already gone, leaving me alone once again with Ethan. 

“We need to talk.” Ethan has moved to his desk. He motions towards the seat in front of his desk, and I take it.  
  
“About the patient?” I place my hands in my lap.  
  
“About us.”

The way he says those two words feels ominous. I begin to clutch my coat, feeling the material fold between my fingers. A sudden sinking feeling teases inside my stomach. He folds his arms across his chest. Clear evidence that he’s trying not to be in a position to reach out across the desk to me in any way.  
  
“I can’t do this anymore, Zyra,” he sighs.  
  
“Do what?” 

“We almost got caught again for being too close. We need to set boundaries from now on. And strictly follow them.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing. I mean I think we’ve been doing pretty well within our boundaries.” I give him a flirtatious smile. I expect him to return one to me with a witty response.  
  
“Dammit, Zyra.” 

I was wrong. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Frustration nearing anger hints on his face and I’m not sure if I am ready for whatever is about to explode. My smile drops. 

“Your touches. You can’t keep touching me. Neither here nor outside the hospital. And the looks and the flirting. We can’t go back. I’m serious about putting your professional development before any of… this.”  
  
And there it is again. Calling what he had--have--a _this_. 

“I’ve been trying hard to resist you. I need to be able to resist you like you need to be able to resist me. If Mirani or Hirata found out about us in any way, that will be a detriment to this team and to your growth as a doctor. I can't jeopardize that. I won’t. Do you understand that?”

And there he is. The Ethan I know so well. The one who just wants to continue pushing me away by repeating his same reasoning like the little conscience in my head flashing bright red ‘danger’ signs every time I’m in Ethan’s vicinity. Perhaps I’ve been reading him wrong this entire time. All the subtle looks and touches, the flirting, and our small moments of togetherness were things I thought were helping us get through this. All of these subtleties of expressing our feelings for each other made me feel as if he was still here with me even though I knew we couldn’t have the type of relationship I want or crave from him. And I know he feels it too, so I thought.

In this situation, I would usually concede and leave with my head bowed. Trying to agree with him and see the logic to his words. But right now, all I feel is anger growing in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps it is me, not him, that is to explode. And by explode, I mean releasing the built up feelings I have been holding back ever since I found out he was in the Amazon.

I can feel my face turn hot. My hands begin to curl into fists. My body tenses. I feel as if I’m about to spring forward across the desk at him in a rage I hadn’t felt since he left the first time. But this time, there is no going back. There is no real solution. There is no hope. How can I fight for someone who doesn’t even want to fight for me? And that’s the part that hurts.

_He doesn’t even want to fight for me as much as I’ve tried fighting for him._

With that thought now in the forefront of my mind, the anger fully releases into words that fly towards him like arrows towards a target. And I hope they pierce through the bullseye each and every time. Swift and painful.

“You act as if you’re so conflicted. But you know what? You’re a fucking coward, Ethan.” I feel the anger flicker in my eyes. “You act as if you’re doing this for me, as if you’re making some huge sacrifice.”

I stand up from my chair, hearing it meet the floor behind me. I splay my hands across the desk and lean forward against it. My eyes bore into his.  
  
“I am so tired of your bullshit. I’ve tried to understand. I really have, but how can I when all you do is run away and make me feel as if I’m nothing but disposable,” I begin to seethe.

His eyes widen at my words. 

“I don’t get it. We both felt happiness together. I know I'm not making this up. Have you ever stopped and asked yourself _how_ this could work instead of assuming that it won’t?”

I stare at him with reproving eyes. His mouth is slightly parted as if he wants to respond but lacks the ability to because of the shock of my words. He’s motionless. His body appears stiff as he continues sitting in the same position with his arms crossed.

“You tend to make all of the decisions here, Ethan, and by god, this will be the last time. I’m making the decisions now. And frankly, I’m done! I’m done feeling this way.”

Ethan begins to stand, eyeing me with confusion. He takes a few steps around the desk towards me.

“Zyra, please.”

I can feel my eyes begin to sting.

“Don’t!” I spit out the command, as I hold up a finger at him. He stops about a couple of feet away from me. “You’re always doing the talking. Now you’re going to listen.” I jab a finger into his chest on the stress of _you’re_. He grabs my wrist, an obvious sign that I am too aggressive in his personal space, but I yank it away. 

“I’m tired of you being hot one moment and then cold the next. I’m tired of you needing me when it’s good for you, but pushing me away when it’s not. I’m tired of feeling as if I’m nothing to you. I’m tired of feeling as if I’m someone who’s so easy to erase from your life. I’m tired of feeling used by you. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just one big mistake to you. I’m so damn tired of it all.”  
  
I see his head begin to subtly shake ‘no’ as his eyes widen even more. I take a deep breath, fighting back my tears as I stand my ground. My face feels hot. My fists clench more and tremble at my sides.

“I’m done waiting for the day that you’ll finally let me in, but now I know. That day will never come. Not with you. There’s only so much I can take from you, and I deserve better than this.”

I hear a faint gasp escape his lips. His eyes cast down to the floor at the space that now separates us. 

“You’ve been taking me for granted all this time. In the end, you’re just a selfish coward who runs off when things get hard… like your mother.”

His eyes dart back up to mine. Hard and narrow. “Don’t you _dare_ compare me to that woman!”

“And here I thought she meant nothing to you.” 

I can see it now. The cold, hard eyes. The flaring nostrils. His lips pinched together into a scowl. The drawing in of slow, steady breaths. But I don’t let him intimidate me. I glare back at him with my own hard and scornful look, even while my heart shatters within. 

“I believe, _Lewis_ , you have patients to return to.”

The way he spits out my name is like him trying to rid himself of a disease on his tongue. A disease that had festered so long that he would even take a knife to sever his tongue from his mouth if that is what it would take to never speak my name again. I hide the hurt it makes me feel. I ignore the nauseous sensation, the rapid pounding in my head, and the oncoming dizziness as I continue looking him dead straight in the eyes. 

“My pleasure, Dr. Ramsey.”

I then turn and leave. I don’t even look back through the glass door as it closes behind me. I continue walking as composed as possible past colleagues in the corridor. Once I reach the elevator, it is empty. I enter and immediately hit the ‘stop’ button. I then fall against the wall, a hand over my mouth, as I begin to hurl my pain out in long, aching sobs.

* * *

My friends want to relax at Donahue's after work. I make the excuse that I’m tired and prefer to head home instead. I walk with them to the bar, since it’s on the way to the T. Bryce tries to persuade me by offering me to buy me a drink. Elijah invites me to do some karaoke to relieve us both from our stressful days. But after what happened today, the alone time is what I need. Sienna. Elijah. Aurora. Jackie. Bryce. I’m sorry. 

I watch them disappear into the bar. A part of me tries to peek inside to see if Ethan is at his usual spot. I can’t tell. But I soon curse myself for even wanting to get a glimpse of him like some masochist. 

There really isn’t much to say when I can’t even remember how I got home or how I am now lying on my bed in the dark. I probably was going through the motions as my head replayed the incident with Ethan countless times. My feelings have been changing between anger and regret. Anger towards everything that man has made me feel and regret for everything I said. But it’s all connected by an indescribable sadness of loss. 

_Have I lost him for good? The man to whom I could never say ‘I love you’? He never even gave me a chance._

The anger is back. 

The apartment is quiet and I have the drapes drawn to keep the outside light from sneaking in. But a bright light shines next to me, accompanied by a ringtone. I feel my heart jump. A part of me hoping it’s him. Yes. I am definitely a masochist. 

But it’s not him. It’s my mama. 

Of course it’s not him. He’s probably almost to Antarctica by now. What’s further than that? I’m sure he’s planning on how to get far away from me as quick as possible. I wouldn’t be surprised. 

I look at the time and it’s 9. It’s not usual for mama to call me at this hour on a weekday. 

“Mama?”

I don’t hear her distinguishable _Hey, baby. It’s mama_. Instead, I hear deep breathing with sounds of sniffling. She forces herself to finally speak and what she tells me couldn’t have come at a worse time. I ask her to repeat what she just said, and the truth finally becomes real. 

Papa is gone. 

I cry with her. I listen to her explain what happened. I cry with her some more. I ask how she’s doing. I ask about my brothers. I ask about the funeral. All I can say is “I’m coming home now.”

I hang up. But I don’t notice my phone trembling in my hand. But I can feel my heart beating in my throat. I’ve lost patients before. But I have never lost someone this close to me. Someone whose blood runs through my veins and whose love and support pushed me to excel in life. It was my family that helped me get where I am today. But now there is one less. My papa. And that nausea I felt from earlier returns and forces me to race towards the bathroom.

* * *

It’s nearly half past 10 now. I’ve booked a red-eye flight to Colorado. But I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at my phone in shock through tear-filled eyes. Without much thought, my thumb scrolls through my contacts and stops on his name. He is someone I could always go to for anything regardless of the circumstances. We trust each other. Care for each other. 

No. 

Trusted. Cared for. Past tense now. It is what he wanted after all.

After what I said, there is no way I can reach out to him now. But my heart knows that I yearn for it more than anything. His gentle caresses along the back of my hand. The tender and lingering kisses against my cheeks and lips. The warm comfort of his strong, protective arms around me. I just need his shoulder to lean on like he’s always had mine. 

_Papa is gone forever. But Ethan is not. Or have I truly lost him too?_

Should I call him or should I do what he does best, disappear and withhold this from him?

My thumb hovers over the call button.


	2. The Decision (CALL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra decides to call Ethan after receiving the news about her father’s death.

I press ‘call’.

I tentatively put the phone close to my ear. I hold my breath at the end of each ring in anticipation of his voice, nearly terrified at the thought of him picking up. My guilt permeates my thoughts and clings to them like poison, eroding away any mild assurance I felt in reaching out to him. My insecurities about calling the very man I belittled only this morning begin to boil to the surface. 

_Maybe I shouldn’t have called. This was a mistake._

The ringing goes on for only so long before it reaches his voicemail. It’s the default one. Automated with no personality. I can’t even get a small taste of his voice. I close my eyes, remembering his velvet-edged and strong tone. But when it becomes low and smooth, it radiates a sincere warmth, which I had mistaken for love. His love for me. A lie, perhaps. 

I immediately hang up before it beeps. 

I’m being naive. He’s probably already avoiding me. I feel my face heat up as I become frustrated with myself for even bothering with that man when I have more important things to focus on. Why do you make me feel this way, Ethan Ramsey? Why do I feel the constant need to turn to you? 

_Because I thought you were becoming my person._

I drop my phone to the bed and finally get up. I try to ignore the nagging questions in my mind. I try to ignore any thoughts of him.

I turn on the lights and begin to go through my closet pulling out my suitcase and throwing things into it without much care. I flip through my hanging clothes, but I pause when I see my black dress. Black is for funerals. Papa is having a funeral. I should probably take this. But I can’t move. My body is frozen as my hand lingers on the hanger that is displaying the cultural etiquette for seeing Papa being lowered into the ground in some overpriced box, away from us forever. His final resting place, as they say. 

Suddenly my phone rings, breaking me out of my dark, lonely thoughts. Because my screen is face up on the bed, I immediately see the name of the caller. It’s Ethan. So much for trying to ignore you. 

I pick up my phone, watching his name flash across my screen. I inhale sharply before I press the button. 

“Hi.” I try to sound as composed as possible. But I know my choice of greeting comes across as being short.

“Zyra…”

My name trails off. But at least it’s my first name. If he had addressed me as Lewis, then this phone call would be even harder to get through. 

“I didn’t expect you to call back.” I catch my bottom lip between my teeth.   
  
“I wasn’t expecting you to call at all,” he says matter-of-factly. 

There’s an eerie silence between us over the phone. It’s in complete contrast to the comfortable moments of silence that speak volumes of how easy it was to just exist with him. The last moment I remember is when he let me lay my head on his shoulder as he drove me home from our dinner with the Governor. We were happy for those brief 15 minutes. Well, I know that I was happy just sitting there with him. One of his hot moments. 

“Ethan,” my voice cuts the silence. “I--the reason I’m calling is that…” I can feel a lump forming in the back of my throat. I’m trying my best to push it down. “I need to take some leave for at least a week.”

I hear him sigh into the phone. “Is this due to what happened today?”

My first gut reaction is anger. I want to yell at him. _No! I’m not you._ But that immediately disappears as I think about my family, who needs me right now, and Papa, most of all. 

I can feel myself beginning to give in to the lump. “My father just passed and I need to go back home.” 

I force the words out as quickly as possible. I clasp my hand over my mouth to muffle my oncoming cries, which I can no longer hold in. I can’t be vulnerable like this around him. Not anymore. I can’t let him hear me cry.

“Zyra...” The tone of his voice has drastically changed to one with a degree of sympathy and concern. “I am so sorry.” He pauses. 

But his words drive me to expose myself. I fail. He gives me a moment of kindness. He listens to me break.

I leave my room to go to the bathroom to grab some tissues. I place the phone on the counter and put him on speaker. I look in the mirror as I see the puffiness around my red eyes and the tracks originating from both my eyes and nose, leaving behind light streaks against my dark complexion. I begin to wipe them away with the tissue.

“Zyra, are you still there?” His voice from the speaker carries through the bathroom. Worry is in his voice. 

“Yes,” I say as I sniffle. I grab another tissue.

“I will take care of everything here and inform Naveen.”

I nod, but remember he’s only on the phone. “Thanks,” I choke out. “I’m leaving tonight.”

“Have you left yet?”  
  
“No, but...”

“Let me take you,” he cuts me off. 

“That’s not necessary.”  
  
“Please. I’m still at the hospital. You’re only five minutes away. I can be there in 10.”

I can hear him moving things around. The sounds of papers shuffling, keyboard clicking, keys jingling. 

“Um, sure.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up. I see the words _call ended_ appear on my screen. I focus on the last word through my now clouding vision.

 _Ended_.

I squeeze my eyes shut. But I can still see the word etched in my mind. Everything is now reminding me of Papa.

* * *

I already have my suitcase and my carryon waiting by the front door. I also texted Sienna and asked her to relay the message to our friends. But she called instead because I will already be gone by the time they get back. I was able to speak to each one, hearing their condolences and goodbyes. The phone call made warmth spread up into my heart. Something I can carry with me as I journey back home. 

I soon hear a knock at the door. I grab my jacket and slip it on as I make my way to open it. When I do, I see him. Neither of us move towards the other, as we stand on opposite sides of the doorway. Our eyes meet with his capturing mine. 

All I want to do is look away. But I can see the care sparkling within his irises like the soft gentle waves in crystal clear, blue waters. They’re inviting me, calling out to me to dive in and be protected by its warm, soothing currents. 

So I dive in. 

In one forward motion, I’m in his arms. His body leans forward and clasps mine tightly to his. I can feel his arms encircle me. My trembling arms cling to him. I bury my face into his taut chest, crying into the worn leather of his green jacket. I feel his hand against my head, gently tangling in my thick curls, as he holds me closer to him. 

I yield to the sobs that shake me, but his strong embrace keeps me steady. I then hear my name fall from his lips ever so tenderly. 

“What time is your flight?” He whispers softly in an infinitely patient and compassionate tone. 

“12:35.”

I can feel him pull back. But he cups my chin tenderly in his hand and searches my upturned face. His face is only a couple of inches away from mine. 

“We should probably head out.”

I just nod, as I dab at my eyes. He gives me a reassuring nod in return. I can feel his hand still resting against the back of my head. I drop my eyes from his steady gaze and notice the wetness from my tears on his jacket. 

“I’m sorry.” I begin to wipe it away.

“It’ll just add to its ruggedness,” he responds with the corner of his mouth quirked up.

My lips tremble with the need to smile. And I do. Through my faint, sad smile, I feel a return to the connectedness I have felt with him. And with the way his eyes soften as he’s now looking at me, I wonder if he feels it too. But then I begin to wonder how short-lived this will be too and how responsive to him I should be. 

Ethan releases his gaze and hand from me. He looks around, his eyes stopping on my bags.

“Is this all you’re taking?”  
  
“Yes.”

He gathers them and steps out, waiting for me. I lock up and follow him out to his car. 

We travel the entire way to the airport in silence. But it’s not that eerie silence from before, but our comfortable one. This comfortableness makes it easy for me to just stare out the window the entire time during the drive, not worrying about trying to make conversation. 

I watch the city lights pass by so insignificantly. Their usual glamour and appeal no longer bring their same excitement. But people say lights bring life to the city. They’re just used to help people see. They can be in different colors. They can be made to flash. Their colors and flashes can be manipulated to represent life. Nothing more. There’s nothing lively about them because lights don’t live. They never did. People live. But Papa no longer does. 

I choke up at the thought. The moment I do, I feel Ethan’s hand grasp mine. His usual caressing of the back of my hand brings the sort of comfort I need. It’s warm. Alive. It’s him. But I don’t respond to him. My hand lays limp under his. Neither do I turn in his direction. I just continue to stare straight through the glass in the direction of the city. A city that no longer holds the charm it had when I first moved here. 

The airport is not as congested as it would be during the day. Perhaps I should take red-eye flights more often. Ethan easily finds a spot to pull over next to the curb in the drop off lane near my airline. He gets out to retrieve my bags from his trunk while I slowly try to exit the car. I stand on the curb glancing around with my arms wrapped around me. 

I feel Ethan’s hand on my shoulder and I turn around to face his soft expression. 

“Wait a moment,” he requests.  
  
I watch him as he goes around to the driver’s side, leans inside, and presses a button. His signal lights flash. The car honks when he locks the car, and he returns to my side. 

“I’ll go with you as far as they’ll let me.”

My gaze wanders, as I don’t know where to look. Not at him. It’s as if I’m trying to look for some truth to the meaning behind his gesture. Not only this one, but all of them since our phone call. 

“Ok,” I say in a shaky voice.

He once again takes my bags for me, but we are stopped by an airport security officer. 

“Sir, you can’t park here.”  
  
Ethan continues walking, my backpack hanging from his right shoulder and my suitcase being rolled behind him. 

“Then leave me a ticket,” he responds in a coarse tone.

I keep my pace with him, but look over my shoulder back at the officer. I see him shaking his head, while he begins to approach the car.

Ethan accompanies me to get checked in, offering up my suitcase to the agent at the check-in counter. Once I receive my ticket, I take my backpack from Ethan and swing it over my shoulder, positioning both of the straps. 

We walk towards security in silence, still not having spoken more than a few words to each other. As I reach the entrance, I stop with him still at my side. I see him turn to me from the corner of my eye. 

“I emailed Naveen before I left. I’ll check in with him and Mirani in the morning.”

“Thank you. And for the ride.”

I again try to fight back my tears, but I keep my gaze diverted from his, not wanting to know how he is looking at me. I know that if I meet his eyes one more time, I will break. 

But then I feel the back of his hand caress my cheek. 

I swiftly close my eyes. I’m certain he can see my pain through the way my lower lip quivers and the way my brows are drawn together in an agonized expression. But I give in and lean my face into his touch to selfishly take in his comfort one last time. 

_This is the last time._

I finally meet his gaze as I rigidly hold my tears in check. But I can feel those hot tears border my eyes.

“Ethan…” 

“I know.” His hand falls back to his side. 

I begin to look towards the short line of passengers waiting to get their bags x-rayed and their bodies scanned. I can feel his searching gaze burn into me. My heart swells and begins to pound out an erratic rhythm. Before I can allow my heart to give way and burst, I begin to slowly back away from him and then make my way through the security process. 

But I look back. He’s still there watching me. His hands are in his jacket pockets. His posture is straight. His face is expressionless. 

I don’t look back again until I make it past security. He’s still there. Still watching. Waiting for me to make it through. I hesitate to raise my hand, but I eventually do to wave. I see him nod in return. I then disappear down the pathway towards my gate. He is no longer in view.


	3. The Decision (WITHHOLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra decides not to call Ethan nor share the news about her father’s death with him.

I press the sleep button.

My phone’s screen turns black. My only source of light disappears, leaving me once again alone in the darkness of my thoughts and the darkness of my room. 

There is no way I can reach out to him. And why should I? He has clearly made it known that we can’t be in each other’s lives. Not personally anyway. Besides, we would probably end up arguing before I could even get the words out. And I don’t have the time nor the energy to argue with that man. I also need to be able to start to not feel the need to turn to him for things. I thought I could in the past. I thought he was someone who was becoming my person. But I was wrong. 

_He can never be my person. He never was. And he never will be._

That is the truth I now have to accept. Right now, Ethan should be the last thing on my mind. He’s not my family. My actual family needs me. 

I get up, fumbling through the dark as I search with my hand for my desk. But once I feel the top cross rail of my desk chair, I end up banging my toe on something. I stumble against the chair, holding onto its back with one hand and my foot with the other. I am in that awkward position where I’m leaning over, my back arched, and I’m holding my foot up near my abdomen. 

“Son of a fucking bitch!”

My eyelids are shut tightly over my eyes as my breath hisses between my teeth. The throbbing in my big toe forces my eyes to fill with tears of frustration. But I bite my lip, holding back those tears from falling. 

_I don’t have time to submit to any more of my feelings._

As the throbbing begins to ease, I sit down in the chair, and turn on the desk lamp. My laptop is set on the desk right in front of me. Just where I had left it. I raise the lid. But the feel of the cold aluminum reminds me of the overpowering chill that tore through my body when Mama said _Papa is gone_.

I slam the lid shut as my hands begin trembling. I look down at them, palms pointed up in my direction. But I can’t compel them to stop shaking. I curl my fingers into my palms to the point that I can feel my fingernails pinch against the skin. Any harder and they will probably break through. I see the exposed skin of my palms flood red. I inhale deeply once and then begin to uncurl my fingers. It has stopped. I continue to stare at my palms until the indentations of my fingernails disappear. 

After finally calming down enough to use my laptop, I’m currently staring at a blank email. I already know who the email is for, but I do not know how to put my current situation into words. My fingers are just resting on the keys, as I stare right through the screen. Then I remember how compassionate he is and that I should have no fear of sharing this with him. Just that thought alone helps my fingers tap against the keys to type out the words I need to convey.

_Dear Dr. Banerij,_

_I am emailing because I need to request a leave of absence for at least a week. I recently received the news that my father has passed away, and I will be leaving back home tonight. I apologize for the inconvenience my absence will have on the Diagnostics team, on the clinic, on my intern, and on my patients. Because this is an urgent situation to which I need to attend, could you please inform Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Mirani about my situation on my behalf?_

_Thank you in advance._

_Sincerely,_

_Zyra Lewis_

After hitting send, I close my laptop in haste so that I do not have to reread what I just wrote. I unhook my charger and grab my backpack. I begin to fill my backpack with these items and other things to take on the plane with me. I don’t realize much of what I’m doing. While my body moves, my thoughts are focused solely on my family.

Then it hits me: _My other family_. 

It’s not too late, so they must all still be at Donahue’s. I grab my phone to text Sienna, but before I hit ‘send,’ I realize how impersonal it is. I decide to call instead and she immediately picks up.

“Zyra! We wish you were here. You should see this game we just came up with using coasters.” 

The pure joy and excitement in her voice brings me to a temporary sense of peace. But as I remember the reason for my call, the peace shatters. 

“Sienna, I need to tell you something,” I state, trying to sound composed as much as possible.  
  
I can hear the noise of the music and chatter begin to die down in the background, until there is only the sound of the drumbeat of my heart banging against my eardrums.

“Is everything ok?” She asks. “Did Dr. Ramsey do something to you again?” There is a hint of concern in her tone. She’s the only person I can talk to about Ethan.

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not the issue here.”

“Zyra, what happened?” 

“Sienna...” I can feel a faint tremor in my voice. “My mama just called, and my--my father passed away.”  
  
I hear a large gasp. “Zyra, no. I am so sorry.” Sienna’s voice begins to crack, and that sound begins to break my heart.

“I’m leaving tonight, so if you can tell the others for me.”  
  
“No! We’re coming back now. Wait for us, ok?”

“You don’t have to.”

“No. We’re not gonna leave you alone right now.” Her voice sounds more determined.

“Um, that would be really…” Now my voice begins to crack. “Great.”

The call ends. I place my phone on the desk, peering down at it. 

_What if? No, Zyra._

I shake away the thoughts of _him_ and begin to search for my suitcase. I find it hidden in the far back corner of my closet. With nothing but the dim light coming from my desk lamp, my suitcase easily merges with the darkness that fills the closet because it is nothing but a solid black. But the silver handle shines, leading me towards its location. When I pull it out, I lay it down. But I just stand over it, as the hard, black case resembles a funeral casket. 

_Is this how it will be now? Will everything remind me of Papa?_

I feel the urge to cry, but my tear ducts feel dried out. And even though there’s been a lingering pain and tightness in my chest ever since Mama told me, all I feel is anger. Perhaps the anger is keeping me from feeling the true sadness of Papa’s passing. Perhaps it hasn’t really hit me yet in the same way it has hit Mama. 

As I stand here looking down at this mini coffin, I still have a part of me that carries doubt. Is any of this actually real? Papa was still young and healthy. It doesn’t make any sense. But when does life ever make sense these days? I grimace as the image of Ethan flashes in my mind. 

I kneel down and begin to unzip the suitcase. But when I pull the cover over, I immediately stagger backwards, landing hard on my butt. My eyes are wide, and my heart pounds against my chest cavity. But I close my eyes tightly and take one long deep breath. When I finally open them, the suitcase is empty. 

_I swear I just saw my own head lying in there._

I think I have been watching _Star Wars_ too much with Elijah. How many times have we watched the scene of Luke Skywalker in the cave, seeing himself in his father’s mask? His path to the dark side. 

Is my mind trying to tell me something? Am I leading down a dark path or am I just slowly dying inside as I am left to rot away in my own casket? My own coffin? If I let this anger take hold, I may very well be heading down somewhere dark. 

I’ve already lost two important people in my life. Perhaps the combined loss of them is making me feel as if I’m slowly dying on the inside, too. But I can’t sit here and try to self-evaluate right now. I need to finish packing. I’m hesitant to move closer to the suitcase, but it is indeed empty. There is no dead stare gazing up at me from the same eyes that are now looking down into the empty space. 

I may be dying inside and I may be angry with the world, but I need to be strong. I need to be strong for Mama and Jacob. Oh, Jacob, my baby brother. I’ll be there for you soon.

* * *

I just called a rideshare. It should be here in about 10 minutes. As I am rolling my suitcase out towards the front, I hear my friends shuffling through the door. Without a word, they all rush to me and encircle me with the biggest group hug I never knew I needed. 

My grip on the suitcase handle loosens and I give in to the hug. I put my arms out and wrap them around the closest people to me: Elijah and Aurora. I don’t know how long we all stay like that, but my words break the hug.

“Thank you, guys. I’m really thankful I get to see you all before I leave.” My throat begins to burn as I speak. 

“We love you, Zyra. We’ll be here for you,” Bryce responds as his eyes lock onto mine.

“Yeah, always,” Jackie adds, squeezing my shoulder.

“Please text us if you need anything.” Aurora gives me a warm smile.

“And we mean anything. Anything at all,” says Elijah.

I see Sienna’s red eyes, and give her her own individual hug.  
  
“I should be comforting you,” she begins to cry.

“You are. So much.” I hold her as I feel her arms wrap around my torso, squeezing me as we hold on to each other.

_I needed to see my friends before I left after all._

After some condolences, goodbyes, and more comforting hugs, I finally make my way out. My rideshare has arrived. The driver pops the trunk and I put my luggage inside. The moment I shut it and begin to head to open the rear door, I hear my name being called, almost breathlessly.

“Zyra, wait!”

I turn around, as the calling is coming from behind me. Rafael is running toward my direction, but he doesn’t just stop. He embraces me fully the moment his feet halt against the sidewalk. I can feel his heated pants against my cheek. Once his breathing becomes more controlled, he speaks.  
  
“I’m so sorry about your father. Bryce texted me. I thought I’d be too late.”

I can feel the rapid beating of his heart through his clothes and against my own chest. The effort and love of a true friend. I return his embrace.

“Hey, do you need me to go with you to the airport?” He asks as he pulls away from our embrace.  
  
“No, I think I’ll be fine. I don’t need a personal bodyguard if that’s what you’re implying.”

I nudge him gently with my shoulder with a subtle smile.

The driver honks, and then rolls down the window.

“Are we going or not?”

I glare back at the driver. “I’m seriously considering removing one star from your rating right now. Don’t test me!” 

The driver is surprised at my sudden outburst. He rolls the window back up and waits. I notice him begin to play a game on his phone. 

“Yeah, you can definitely take care of yourself. I shouldn’t have even asked.” Rafael lets out a chuckle. 

“No, I’m glad you did.” The little smile that I am giving begins to fade. “But please try to abstain from any more dangerous heroics while I’m gone. I can’t lose anyone else that’s important to me.”

His face falls sullen, but he never breaks eye contact with me.

“Rafael, I’m sorry. I--”  
  
“You’re right though.” He smiles as he takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

I squeeze his hand back before I get into the car. The driver pulls away from the curb, and as he drives off, I see that Rafael’s still watching.

As we head towards the airport, I pull out my phone and send a group text:

_I love you all. This’ll be hard, but knowing I have you all here for me is the greatest gift. You’re my family forever._

I put my phone away in my backpack and just stare straight ahead through the back of the front seat, ignoring all of my surroundings and allowing my thoughts to wander to--wherever. 

“Y’know, about earlier. Sorry ‘bout that.” The driver tries to apologize.

I know what the driver is trying to do. I can see him glancing back at me from time to time through the rearview mirror as he tries to make conversation. I just roll my eyes and continue staring forward. He finally gets the message and just turns up the music. It’s from some stupid aria. I groan at the fact that I know it, but even more so that out of all music genres, it had to be his favorite. His stupid damn opera music.

_Damn you, Ethan Jonah Ramsey._

There was a time I researched operas just so I could talk about them with Ethan. Listening to him go on about one of his hobbies was so invigorating. He’s not only a walking disease encyclopedia, he’s also a walking opera encyclopedia. The passion in his voice alone made me question the seriousness I took to my own hobbies. Which was none, by the way. I hadn’t been able to commit to a true hobby since I began medical school. But that’s not the point. 

This very song’s name I remember though. “Der Hölle Rache” from Mozart’s _Die Zauberflöte_ , or “Hell’s Vengeance Boils in My Heart.” The moment I remember the title, my anger resurfaces. I begin to question whether there is a god, and if there is, why would this god take Papa away from me so soon. If anything, my own heart is boiling with hell’s vengeance, vengeance for my father’s death. 

_Whoever or whatever took my father from me…_

So much for not giving into my feelings. 

My mind is cloudy due to my angry thoughts. I think I hear the driver’s voice trying to penetrate them. I snap out of it once I hear him ask an important question.

“Airline?”

“Delta.”

He pulls over to the Delta dropoff. I get out and give him a quick thank you and grab my luggage. I decide to use the check-in kiosk to get my ticket and baggage tag. I am not in the mood to interact with anyone right now. I don’t want to take the chance to snap at another person because I have yet to deal with my feelings.

_But I have a right to feel angry, don’t I?_

After putting on my baggage tag, I drop my suitcase off at the baggage drop off and make my way to security. The line isn’t very long, but once I reach the TSA person to check my ID, I try to not frown. I don’t want to appear suspicious and then try to explain that I’m pissed off because Papa died and a specific coward can’t be honest about his feelings for me. The latter isn’t as important, but he’s still there, haunting me somehow.

“Thank you, Ms. Lewis.” She hands me back my ID and ticket and I continue through the process. 

After clearing security, I pull out my phone and notice I have replies from my friends and a new email. I stand off to the side to check the email first. I open it and see that Dr. Banerji has already responded. 

_Zyra,_

_I am terribly sorry to hear about your father’s passing. I send my condolences to you and your family at this time. Please take as much time as you need. I have already spoken with Ethan, and we will make sure your schedule and patients are covered. I will check in with Zaid in the morning to work out a temporary replacement for your intern. Please take care during this time, and let me know if there is anything I can do for you and your family._

_Sincerely,_

_Naveen Banerji_

His heartfelt response makes me feel more at ease about leaving my work behind for a while. But then it hits me: Ethan knows. 

I look through my texts, email, and call log, but there is nothing from him. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter anymore. He’s obviously made it clear where he stands with me. While walking towards my gate, I feel hell’s vengeance reemerge.

I find an empty seat at my gate, and do something I shouldn't. I find the song, put on my earbuds, and begin to wallow in my anger. I begin to feel those tears of frustration begin to finally fall. 

As the soprano sings in the song, “death and despair are blazing around me.” 

_No shit._


	4. The Family (CALL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra is with her family in Colorado, but an unexpected visitor arrives, who may either improve or worsen the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be a long chapter. But it helps establish Zyra's family and her relationship with them.

Lemon.

All I smell is lemon. 

The artificial citrus fragrance tickles against my sinuses. My nostrils flare and I occasionally wiggle my nose, as I try to wipe down Mama’s wooden coffee table. The aroma triggers childhood memories of the house always having this lingering hint of freshness. Even now. It shows that some of Mama’s habits have never changed. She has always insisted on using lemon-scented furniture polish and household cleaners. She swears by them, really. 

Jacob, my ten-year-old brother, is sitting on the couch with a hunched posture, moving the appendages of one of his many action figures. His expression has been unreadable ever since I arrived. But the one constant is that he always carries around that same toy with him wherever he goes. It’s probably acting like his security blanket right now. 

I glance over at a pile of items on the couch next to my brother. A set of cork coasters with a bird pattern. A decorative centerpiece of wooden fruit, which has always been the focal point of the living room. Some remotes. And Jacob’s Xbox controllers.

Then there’s a stack of magazines. _Essence_ , Mama’s favorite, is at the top with Idris Elba taking command on the cover. His forward gaze and bold smile exude an elegant confidence that says “You know you like what you see.” Oh, boy, do I. His grey suit vest closes around his long, muscular lines against a simple white, open-collared dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, showing off those thick, strong forearms. And he swings his matching jacket over his right shoulder, like the god that he is. His eye candy is enough to awaken my locked away desires and sexual needs. When was the last time I’ve had a man touch me? When was the last time that I’ve had a man explore every inch of my body and then fully take me in long, deep thrusts, which not only reached my very center but my very soul? 

_Ethan_.

And that was many months ago, long before he ran away to the Amazon and tried to erase everything between us. Away from me and his feelings for me. Away from the very moment when he said I was special and made me believe I was special _to him_. But sometimes I can still feel him. The way his fingers caressed my inner thighs. The way each curve of his well-defined muscles glided against my body. The way the heat from his lips ignited my skin. The way his tongue danced against mine. The way his hard cock slid and pulsated against my inner walls. The way we were in sync with one another without any fears or insecurities. 

I lean down to wipe the open shelf, while mentally scolding myself for my sudden horniness. Thanks, Idris.

“Hey buddy, I’m almost finished here. You wanna put the stuff back on the coffee table for Mama?”

_And put Idris at the very bottom, away from my sight._

I hear him release a sigh with a shrug of his shoulders. He slides down from the couch and onto the floor to his knees. He begins placing things back on the coffee table, one-handed, while holding his figure in the other. 

“Thanks, buddy.” 

I flash him a smile, but his gaze is always downward, staring with a vacant expression. I rub the top of his head before I move to focus my dusting skills on the TV stand. But then I hear a shattering sound come from the kitchen. Jacob looks up at me with worry. It’s the first hint of emotion I’ve seen from him. I go to kneel down next to him.  
  
“It’s OK. I’m sure everything’s fine. Just finish up here. I’m going to go check on Mama.”

When I enter the kitchen, I see Mama standing on a chair with pieces of a shattered light bulb around the chair’s legs.

“Mama, you know that’s too high for you to reach.”  
  
I look up at the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. I offer Mama my hand to help her down from the chair and guide her so she doesn’t step on the glass shards. 

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Zyra. This place needs to be ready for the reception tomorrow.”

I sigh. “We should have held the reception at the church.”

“No. Your father would have wanted it here. In the house he raised this family in,” Mama responds with an irritated tone in her voice.

I grab the broom and a dustpan and begin to sweep. Mama tries to take it from me before I even begin. 

“No, Mama. Just sit down for a minute. I’ll get this cleaned up.”

Mama likes to keep busy when she’s stressed or emotionally overwhelmed. I can’t imagine her sitting down right now, and she doesn’t. Instead she goes to the refrigerator and eyes what’s inside. 

“I’ll get dinner started.”

I only nod, as I sweep up the glass shards. I hear the doorbell ring. I look at the ornate clock on the kitchen wall. It’s after 4. Mama and I both look in the direction of the living room where the front door is. 

“I hope that’s not a neighbor with _another_ casserole. I am thankful for their generosity, but our refrigerator can only hold so much.”

Mama opens the refrigerator door more to where I can see about 6 casserole dishes piled up. At least I know what we’re having for dinner. 

“I’ll go check who’s at the door,” I offer.

But as I lean the broom against the counter, I hear what sounds like my brother’s voice. But it has an edge of excitement to it, not one of sadness, which I had been expecting.

“Are you Captain America?”

But then I feel my entire body tense at the sound of the second one. The deep, velvety one that haunts me while I’m both asleep and awake. 

“I’m sorry, who is Captain America?”

I rush to the door and see the face to the familiar voice standing before Jacob. When I approach, he lifts his head and gives me a weak, pensive smile. I immediately stand in front of Jacob, with one hand on the outside door knob and one pressed against the back of my brother’s head. 

“Hey, buddy, why don’t you go finish up in there. I’ll take care of this.”

Jacob just stares wide-eyed at the man resembling his most favorite superhero. I don’t see the resemblance but perhaps the beard has something to do with the comparison between Steve Roger’s scruff. And the fact that he’s a tall, white man. Very tall, lean, and muscular at that.

I close the door behind me as the man takes a few steps back. I wrap my arms around myself and give him a frosty look.

“Ethan? Wh-what are you doing here?” 

“If I’m overstepping, just tell me and I’ll go.”  
  
“You are,” I say, exasperation seeping through my voice. “You can’t just show up like this. How did you even find me?”

He bites the corner of his lip. “Dr. Trinh.”

Sienna? She’s always trying to play matchmaker. Perhaps if I had told her what had happened, Ethan wouldn’t now be standing at the doorstep of my parents’ home in that stupid, old green leather jacket and that stupid white form-fitted shirt and those stupid black jeans with the faded thighs, and…

“I’m sorry, Zyra.” His apologetic tone breaks my obsessive, angry thoughts before they turn into longing, aching ones. “I thought that I could be here for you, like you had always done for me with Naveen.”

“So you’re just trying to return a favor?” I feel heat begin to stain my cheeks as I frown at him. 

“Zyra, no. I wanted to be here for you.”

I then spit back the very words he used against me all those months ago at Donahue’s. “I thought it had nothing to do with _want_.” 

My temper begins to flare, but I lower my voice to not raise suspicion from my family inside. My feet inch closer to him. I tilt my chin up so my gaze reaches his. 

“You didn’t want–no–you _wouldn’t_ be a part of my personal life, Ethan. You can’t just show up and start now. That’s not how it works. Coming from someone who loves to just follow some set of rules, you’re clearly breaking a very established one.”

“I–” My angry retort makes him suddenly look weak and vulnerable in the face.

“You think I’m just going to run into your arms and welcome you into my family during one of the most unbearable, unthinkable, devastating moments of our lives? Why? Just because I had one vulnerable moment and allowed you to take me to the airport?”

I see his Adam’s apple quiver from him swallowing hard, trying not to reveal his own frustration. But his eyes give away that internal, conflicted pain I know so well. And for once, I’m not falling for it. 

Before either of us can say another word, Mama opens the door. Jacob is standing behind her. He has a hypnotic look of awe on his face as he stares up at Ethan. 

“Who is this, Zyra?”  
  
Mama looks between me and Ethan. She comes to stand at my side, while Jacob remains in the doorway, observing us. Or mostly Ethan.

“Just a colleague from work.” I force a smile.  
  
“From Boston?”

Ethan and I give each other a knowing look. But Mama catches it.

“Um, yeah. This is Ethan Ramsey. He’s just in town doing some consulting at the local hospital. That’s what he does. He goes around helping diagnose medical mysteries. Because he’s the top diagnostician in the country. So they ask him for help a lot.”  
  
“Baby, now you’re just rambling.” Mama places a hand on my shoulder and turns to the unknown man.

“I’m Janet, Zyra’s mother.”

“Mrs. Lewis, I came to give my condolences to you and your family. I am terribly sorry for your loss.” Ethan’s entire demeanor has changed to his more confident and serious one. The one he uses when he’s speaking to patients or when he’s being professional with me. 

“Thank you. But wait. You’re _that_ Ethan Ramsey? The one who inspired my baby to go into medicine? The one who is now mentoring her?” Mama clasps his hand between hers, giving him a bright, appreciative smile. “She was so obsessed with you and your work. I swear it’s all she would ever talk about. And sometimes, it still is.” She pats the back of Ethan’s hand.  
  
“Ok, Mama. He gets it.” 

Ethan darts a glance at me, and my face begins to burn. Thankfully, my complexion is dark enough to not give away the sight of all the blood rushing to my face. But the creeping smirk on his face tells me I’ve been caught.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Mama begins to lead Ethan in by his hand.  
  
“Oh no, Mama, he’s very busy.” Subconsciously, I take Ethan’s other hand. _It’s so warm_. “Uh, thank you Ethan for stopping by. We appreciate it.”

“Nonsense. I want to learn more about this important man in your life.” She turns her attention back to _my important man_. “I insist you stay for dinner. You can help us put a dint in these casseroles.”

I drop his hand as Mama leads him inside. I just groan, rubbing my forehead as I follow behind and close the door.

“You know him? Captain America?” Jacob’s at my side, staring up at me with an innocent, childlike expression. I let out a gasp of shock as these are the very first words he’s spoken to me since I arrived. 

I nod. “I do. It’s OK to say hi to him.”

Jacob clings to my side, holding his figure to his chest. His timid gaze is still on his Steve Rogers.

“Do you think you could do us a favor?” Mama asks Ethan as she leads him to the kitchen. I can see that she finished sweeping up the broken glass. “Could you screw in this up there?” Mama offers him a new lightbulb.

Ethan looks up at the vaulted ceiling and nods. He takes the lightbulb, gets on the chair, and reaches up to screw it into place. He’s so damn tall that he only needs to barely bend his elbow to reach. 

When he gets down, Mama does something unexpected. She gives him a hug. I can see his body stiffen but then relax as he hugs her back. 

“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Lewis.”  
  
“Oh, Janet is fine. No need for ‘Mrs.’ here.”

Jacob leaves my side and gently pulls on Ethan’s sleeve. Ethan kneels down and smiles at him.  
  
“You must be Jacob.”  
  
My brother’s face lights up at the sound of his name.

“I’m Ethan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your sister mentions you often.”

My brother’s smile widens.

“And who is this?” Ethan points to the figure still in my brother’s grip.

“Captain America!” He hands the figure to Ethan, who looks it over with a soft expression.

“Oh, this is him, huh?”

“Yeah! He has, uh, this shield. And he was, like, frozen for a long time and now he leads the Avengers. He’s really fast and really strong.”

“He sounds quite fascinating.”

“He’s my favorite, but I have others too. Mama, can I show him my room?”

Mama and I freeze as we both look at each other. 

“Sure. Dinner will be ready in 20,” she answers.

Jacob grips the cuff of Ethan’s jacket and eagerly pulls him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Ethan looks back at me, his eyes searching for assurance from mine. I respond with a subtle smile of approval.

When they both disappear up the stairs, I turn to Mama. “You said Jacob hasn’t spoken a single word since Papa passed, but now?” 

“It’s a blessing from God, baby. He’s sent us one of his angels in our time of need.”

Mama is religious. A devout Baptist all her life. I never took to it. Neither to the prayers, the baptisms, the Bible, or the Sunday services. There’s a lot about religion that doesn’t make sense to me. But when I’m at home, I respect Mama and just go along with what she says. 

She takes a seat next to me and takes one of my hands in hers.

“I see you’re doing that natural style that’s all the rave now.” Mama touches the curls of my hair. “I love your straight look more. Perhaps you should go back to flat ironing it. Or get a relaxer.”

Mama’s shoulder-length hair is pressed with sweeping side bangs. Her black hair gives off a radiant shine under the lights. But I’ve never known Mama to not have straight hair. I gave that up long ago. 

“You really need to fix your edges.” Her thumb runs along my hairline. “I’ll make sure your edges look perfect for the funeral tomorrow. Maybe even straighten your hair, too.”

I have no energy to argue or refuse her right now. “Sure, Mama.” It is all I can say. 

“So, Ethan seems really nice. And handsome. He seems a little older than I expected though.”

I shrug. “He’s only 37.”

“Well, that’s not too old then. You’ll be 29 this year.”

I just roll my eyes and look out the window near the table. The sun is beginning to go down, leaving behind a reddish-purplish haze across the sky. But I can feel my mama’s eyes on me, observing my expressions and body language, trying to find clues to my unresponsiveness to her questions.

“You’re usually more open to talking about him. Now that he’s here, you seem a bit more secretive.” 

“We should probably get a casserole in for dinner now.” I try to change the subject. I head straight for the refrigerator, but my hand lingers on the door’s handle when I see two tickets under a magnet of Jacob when he was a baby.

“What are these, Mama?” I hadn’t noticed them before. _The Rolling Stones._

“Oh, just something your father and I were going to see.” She begins to play with the decorative frill of the placemat. “Your father had been dying to see The Rolling Stones. He always liked that Mick Jagger.”

I chuckle at the memories. “Yeah, he’d always sing along to ‘Paint It Black’. I swear it was the first song he ever sang to me to get me to sleep.” My chuckling dies down. “He also would tell me, ‘Black people can love rock music, too, because we invented it.’”

“Where’s the lie?” Mama asks rhetorically. 

Mom and I laugh together. Our eyes connect as we linger on the shared memories. She begins to hum “Paint It Black” while getting up from her seat and preheating the oven. She then continues. 

“But every time they came to Denver, I would always tell him, next time. Until finally we decided to do it this year. They are touring again and they will be here next month.” 

I place one of the casserole dishes into the oven, I set the timer on the stove, and we go back to the table together. I notice her press her lips together, her eyes watering.

“If only we went together the last time they were here. If only I didn’t deny him of that joy.” 

“Mama…”  
  
“Baby,…” Her eyes lock on mine. “Life is too short to wait for the right time. You gotta make the most of the time you have with the people you love before you end up always asking yourself ‘what if’. That’s no way to live.”

I’m beginning to get a sense as to where this is going.

“I sensed some tension between you two.”

_And there it is._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Baby, you can’t fool me. I’ve got over three decades of experience more than you. And I know _you_.”

I turn my head away to again look out the window. My lower lip begins to tremble.

“It doesn’t matter, Mama. He…”  
  
“He what, baby?”

“He’s not what I had expected.”  
  
“In what way?”

“I thought we wanted the same things, but he proved that I was very wrong.”

“I take it, it has nothing to do with work.”

She takes my hand, and I drop my head against it. 

“I want you to hear me, baby. And I want you to hear me good. Whatever is going on between you two, he came here for you. You know I don’t buy that whole he-came-for-work excuse. And that is reason enough to try to work things out because whether you accept it or not, that man up there loves you. You just gotta have faith.”

 _No, I don’t_. 

Mama doesn’t know him like I do. How he has consistently hurt me time and time again. This is just another one of his gestures that will hold no meaning once I get back to Boston.

 _Erase and reset_.

The kitchen timer goes off.

“Why don’t you grab them for dinner? I’ll start setting the table.”

I give a silent nod, and hesitantly head towards my destination. I stand at the foot of the stairs making sure my eyes are wiped clean of any evidence. When I go upstairs, I can hear both of their voices. The happiness in Jacob’s voice gives me the confidence to go to the room. When I reach the door, I just stand there, watching them.

“Help, Captain America! You must save Iron Man.”

“Iron Man, yes.” Ethan clears his throat to make it sound more heroic. “We cannot save the city without his technology.” 

I clasp a hand over my mouth at the scene I am witnessing.

Ethan moves the Captain America action figure towards a green one. But Jacob just laughs.

“Not that one, Ethan. That’s the Hulk!”

“That one.” I interrupt and point. 

Ethan pauses and stares at me as his cheeks flush. I kneel down, sitting on my heels, and pick up the Iron Man figure. 

“Thank you, Captain America.” I try to mimic a deep, manly voice. I look over at the figure in Jacob’s hand. “And you, too, Falcon.”

“No problem! Captain America and me are the best team.”

I continue my Iron Man role play. “Well, I think it’s time for some food. Shawarma, anyone?”

Jacob raises his hand high up into the air. “Me!”

“Let’s go, Falcon, Captain America.”

Jacob stands up and rushes out the door, holding Falcon out as if he were flying.

Ethan turns, easing into a smile. “You will not mention this to anyone.”

“I can’t promise that.” I find it impossible not to return his disarming smile.

* * *

Ethan has joined us at the table for dinner, and Jacob was committed to having him sit by him. Mama is sitting across from Jacob, while I’m sitting across from Ethan. Our plates are mostly empty as our conversation has taken time away from the eating. Jacob couldn’t resist telling Ethan more about his hobbies and filling him in on school and friends. Mama learned more about the work we do with the Diagnostics team, and she nodded with her usual “mmmhmmms,” which is her way of showing how impressed she is. Of course, she couldn’t help but look upon me with great pride when Ethan explained all the times I’ve been able to diagnose our patients, being able to catch the clues that solved each case.

But it’s the way _he_ looks at me during his storytelling that shows me the true pride and respect he has for me. _Professionally_. 

But our conversing is cut off by the sound of the front door closing.

“Mama?” A familiar voice booms from outside the kitchen.

And then Elliot, my older brother, appears. He stops and eyes the stranger in confusion before he goes over to Mama to kiss and hug her. 

“I thought you were getting in later tonight, baby?”

“I was able to change my plans.” 

Jacob stands up on his chair and jumps into Elliot’s arms. 

“Oof. Hey, buddy. Missed you, too.” He rubs the top of Jacob’s head, while holding him with one arm. Jacob wraps his tiny arms around his older brother’s neck.

“Guess what?” Jacob asks.

“What, buddy?”

“Zyra knows Captain America!” He points to Ethan.

Ethan stands up and extends his hand. “I’m Ethan.”

Elliot hesitantly shakes it. 

“Elliot.”

“My condolences.”

“Yeah, thanks. And you are?”  
  
“That’s Zyra’s boyfriend!” Jacob exclaims.

_Oh, buddy. You should have kept to your Avengers._

I see Ethan’s flush move to his ears before he sits back down. 

“No, he’s just a colleague from work,” I try to explain.

“From Boston?” Elliot asks.

“That’s what I said,” Mama adds.

Elliot sits Jacob back down in his seat before he comes to me. I stand up and give him a tight hug. I haven’t seen him in person in over a year. 

“You’re looking good, sis. Being a doctor is doing wonders for you.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re kicking ass up in Seattle with all your fancy coding.”

“We’ve always kicked the best asses, haven’t we?”

“Language, both of you!” Mama glares at us.

“Sorry, Mama,” we both say in unison.

Elliot grabs a plate from the cabinet and takes a seat at the end of the table, opposite from Papa’s seat, at the head. I think he realizes it because he just stares blankly at the empty seat before helping himself to the casserole that is sitting in the middle of the table. 

Mama catches Elliot up on our conversation. Throughout, he looks over at Ethan, eyeing him suspiciously. But he can’t help but snicker when Jacob keeps referring to Ethan as Captain America. Then Elliot has the chance to update us on his life. He talks about life up in Seattle, his roommate, and his current project he’s working on. A Dopey Cat 2 game, which he’s excited about but can’t give any details, even though Jacob begs him. 

“This is weird, Mama.” Elliot explains as he takes a bite of the casserole. “What is that? Celery?”

“Well, your father never liked his food mixed. How ironic that for his funeral, we’re given casseroles.”

“You remember how Papa ate spaghetti?” I begin to reminisce.

“Oh, man! He would have a plate of noodles with a separate bowl for the sauce.” Elliot slaps the table and laughs.

“And then he’d dip the noodles into the sauce.” I can’t help but laugh either. Mama and Jacob, too. 

“No?” Ethan leans forward on the table, a curious smile on his lips.

“Oh, yeah. Then he’d sprinkle some parmesan cheese on top of each bite,” Elliot continues. “He did that with any pasta.”

“Quincy was something else,” Mama states. “Going out to a restaurant with him was a task in itself.”

We all sit there in a wistful silence. 

I can feel my eyes start to sting. Perhaps Ethan notices because I can feel his foot gently tapped against mine under the table. But I don’t dare catch his gaze. I stand up and begin to gather my dishes before I allow myself to give into any of my feelings.  
  
“Can I take anyone’s dishes?” 

“Let me help you.” Ethan stands with me and begins to help me clear the table. My mom watches him with a keen interest. Elliot is still finishing his plate, and Jacob is playing with his figures. 

Ethan places some of the dishes on the counter near the sink. My hand lingers above his arm, but I drop it once I realize what I am about to do. Though, my eyes roam upwards to meet his. 

“Thank you,” I whisper. 

He nods with a compelling and magnetic gaze, which I am forced to break by turning on the tap water. 

He heads back to the table to bring me more dishes, but I hear my mother say his name. We both turn towards her direction. 

“Do you know what Zyra’s name means?”

“OK, Mama. We don’t have to tell Ethan everything about me.”

“Oh, but he should know this.” Mama sits up straighter in her chair. “A girl who causes change in other’s lives. And this girl brings wisdom, protection, health, and love.” 

Mama continues eyeing him, waiting for his reaction. I then see Ethan smiling to himself as he picks up the casserole dish. 

_I see what you’re doing, Mama._

“I would say that is the most accurate description of your daughter.”

I turn back around towards the sink and turn the water off. 

“Can I watch Avengers with Ethan?” Jacob asks excitedly.  
  
“What about me, your brother?”

“Well, only if you’re Bucky.”

Elliot just laughs. “Come on, Mama. Go with Jacob and the Captain.”

“It’s Captain America!” Jacob yells.

“OK. OK, buddy. Sorry.” He holds his hands up in mock defense. “Anyway, Zyra and I will finish cleaning up.” 

After some convincing, we finally get Mama to go watch the movie with them. Tomorrow’s going to be a long, emotional day. So it would do everyone some good to just relax for the rest of the night. 

Elliot grabs a dish towel from the drawer and joins me at the sink. He watches me as I scrub the glass casserole dish.

“I hate to be that stereotypical black person, but I really could have gone for some chicken for dinner.”

I drop my chin against my shoulder, stifling a burst of laughter. 

“Well, if you had come sooner, you could have changed Mama’s mind, I’m sure. If you were paying.”

“Of course I’d pay. I’d give up an entire month’s worth of salary to never eat another casserole.”

“Well, too bad. Mama’s got about five left in there.”

He whips me with the towel across my back. I splash him with soapy water in return.

“So, you and this Ethan guy–”

“Don’t start.”

“Hey, I just want to make sure you’re doing OK.”

“I’m fine.”

“Why don’t I believe you? You don’t have to be a pussy about it, Zyra.”

“I should take that as a compliment. Pussies are strong and built to withstand a lot of strain and stress.”

“Is that what you’re withstanding from Mr. Steve Rogers over there?” 

I pass him the dish to dry.

“Ethan and I aren’t like _that_. By the way, how’s that roommate of yours, David?”  
  
“Mama isn’t here. You don’t have to refer to him as that.” He smirks at me. “Going on a year now.”

I keep my voice low. “I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks.” But his smile falters. “I wish I could have brought him here, though.”  
  
“I know. I’m sure Mama’ll come around in time.”

“Maybe.” He puts the dish in the cabinet next to the stove. “It just would have been nice to have his shoulder to lean on, with Papa gone and all.”

My brother is standing close to me, in front of the other half of the double sink. I lean my head against his shoulder. 

“You can lean on mine.” I reassure him. 

“At least you got Ethan.” I return upright and continue washing, a lingering sorrow weighing me down. My own feelings are still too raw to discuss. “I guess we both went outside of our social expectations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ethan ain’t black.” He nudges me in the side with his elbow. 

“Neither is David.” 

“Touché.” Elliot chuckles. “But you just admitted it.”

“Admitted what?”

“You and Ethan.”

I have the urge to splash him again, but I just shake my head with a somber smile. 

“It’s complicated.”

* * *

We spend the rest of the evening watching the last two Avengers movies back-to-back. Jacob makes sure he’s sitting directly next to Ethan. He explains every little thing to him. Elliot jumps in at times. 

“How are you liking it? Isn’t it the best?” Jacob asks Ethan with an excited look in his eyes.

“I honestly have no idea what’s going on.” Ethan answers.

I chuckle quietly as Elliot adds, “Well, it’s a cumulation of ten years worth of films.”

“I don’t watch many movies,” Ethan says.

I look over at Elliot. “It’s true.”

“Perhaps you can convince him to watch more. They make for good dates.” Elliot winks at me.

“El, we’re not–” I stop myself when I see Ethan’s surprised gaze dart to mine.

I’m finding that my family won’t believe me anyway. I try to change the subject instead. We begin a short discussion on interests, Ethan talking about his interest in seeing operas and Elliot’s interest in attending concerts for many genres of music and how Seattle is a great place for that, but Jacob shushes them, leaving only the sounds of explosions and the booming score.

We continue onto the second part of the film. I observe Ethan. His eyebrows furrowed in that usual way when he’s heavily concentrating on something. His eyes focused on the screen, flitting ever so subtly as they follow the action. He’s probably making mental lists for every character and mental mind maps to map out how everything is connecting in order to create his own understanding of this new world, solving his own mystery.

The film moves to the humorous scene when Rocket and the Hulk try to get Thor back.

“And that’s Thor. He’s Papa’s favorite. But now Thor’s like me.” 

“How’s that?” Ethan asks Jacob.

“He’s sad, too.” The initial excitement in Jacob’s voice disappears and turns into a quiet little hum of a choked whisper.

The four of us look at each other, exchanging glances. This is Jacob’s first moment of expressing his feelings about Papa. Mama holds her hands out to her baby, and he goes to her, curling up in her lap. She rocks him gently as she whispers into his ear, words only meant for him. 

Jacob begins to doze off halfway through the film. 

“Let me help you get him to bed, Mama,” I offer.

“I’m alright, baby.” She then sees the time and stands up, holding him. “Ethan? Where are you staying?”

“A hotel.”

“Nonsense. You can stay here with us. Zyra can make up the bed in the den for you.”

“I don’t want to impose any further.”

“I insist. And please join us for the funeral tomorrow. I would like you there.”

I begin to refute but I catch myself before anything comes out. 

Mama heads upstairs with Jacob. Elliot pulls out a pack of cigarettes and heads outside. Now we’re finally left alone. I shut off the TV and head to the den with Ethan following. 

When I enter the den, there’s an old, brown couch against the far wall. I begin to remove the cushions, revealing a pull out bed. 

“Let me help you.”

I don’t respond but I let him. He pulls the bed out while I grab some sheets, a blanket, and a pillow from the closet. He helps me put the sheet on the bed, then the blanket. I toss the pillow at its head.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall. It’s pretty private down here, so you don’t have to worry about anyone bothering you. Need anything else?”

“No. Thank you. I just need to grab my bag out from the car.”

We stand there idly. I expect him to say something more. He probably is expecting the same from me. 

“So, my brother loves you.”

“Which one?” A flash of humor crosses his face. “Well, he’s pretty special, like his sister.”

_Ethan, please. Don’t let me in only to push me away later._

I muster up some courage as I intake a sharp, deep breath before I go to sit down on the edge of the bed. I glance up at him, knowing what I have to do now. 

“Can we talk?”

He nods and takes a seat next to me, but I lean forward, my forearms on my thighs as I look ahead, away from him.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you back in Boston.”

“Zyra, no.” I hear his deep sigh. “What you said was hard to hear, but true. I never meant to make you feel that way. I would never want to hurt you.”

“You knew your actions would, so that’s not a valid excuse.”

He goes quiet, making the room fill with a lonely silence. 

“I’m so mad at you, Ethan.” I had expected my tone to be sparked in anger, but instead, it’s just filled with a lingering melancholia. 

“I know.”

“No. No, you don’t know. I’m mad that you just came here without even thinking about the consequences. I already have enough on my plate with my father’s passing and trying to be the strong one for my family. I don’t need to be reminded of you and how you’ve made me feel on top of it.”

He continues to listen.

“You’ve put me in a very bad position here, trying to explain who you are. Now what am I going to say to my relatives and family friends tomorrow about you?”

“I suppose I didn’t consider that.”

“And now what? Jacob has bonded with you. What’s going to happen once you leave? You just came into my family’s lives without even thinking about how it’ll affect them once you’re gone. _I_ know you’ll never see them again. But _they_ don’t know that. They don’t know you like I do. They don’t know how you just run off and disappear. Or how you’ll turn this grand gesture into only a memory you’ll erase and move on with your life. But for someone like my baby brother, he’s going to remember you for a long time. His Captain America.”

I bite my lip. “But you’re not a hero. You’re…”

“I’m a what?”

“You’re a Loki.”

“A what?”

“A trickster. Oh, nevermind. Look, my mother invited you to the funeral, but I need you to do me a favor.” I finally turn to look at him, meeting the silent rainstorm brewing in his eyes. I wonder how long he has been looking at me like that. “I need you to leave once it’s over. I can’t have you here. Can you understand that?”

“I’m sorry, Zyra.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I debated coming. I honestly did, but I know how you get. You want to bear everyone’s pain except your own. I only wanted to be here for you so I could help bear yours.”

“And then what? I go back to Boston and find you’re off in, I don’t know, Russia or something because you have to get rid of this entire experience before you come back and start over with me again?”

He begins to open his mouth, but then immediately closes it. His gaze turns to the floor. 

“And bearing my pain is _not_ your responsibility. After how you’ve responded to even the idea of an _us_ , you can understand how fearful I am when you give me even a sliver of hope, can’t you?” 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry for overstepping.”

I’m tempted to run my hand through his hair, like I would when I wanted to comfort him. But he’s not the one who needs comforting. I clench my jaw and stand.

“I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. Good night.”

“Of course. Good night, Zyra.”

I clench the collar of my shirt when I hear his voice. Something about it’s tenderness makes my heart ache. But I continue off and leave.

* * *

It’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep. All I can do is roll over to one side and then to the other. I even kick off my covers, believing that will help. It doesn’t. Instead, I decide to check on everyone. I don’t hear Mama through the door crying like the previous nights. Hopefully, she’s getting some sleep. Jacob is also fast asleep. His Avengers night light is on next to his bed. And Elliot, I hear clicking going on in his room. He’s probably up working. 

I head downstairs and into the kitchen. I put the kettle on to heat up some water. As it does, I grab a mug and a chamomile tea bag. Hopefully, that’ll help me get back to sleep. After preparing my tea, I go and take a seat at the table. I prop my feet up on the chair with my knees to my chest. I take small sips of the tea, savoring the hints of apple and honey-like sweetness, and admiring the clear, night sky.

My solitude is cut short when I hear footsteps. I then see Jacob clutching his large Captain America plushie as he tiptoes towards the den. I silently get up and follow him. He is now climbing on the bed and shaking Ethan.

“Ethan,” he whispers.

Ethan sits up, rubbing his eyes until he realizes who it is.

“Hey, Jacob. Everything OK?”

“I can’t sleep. Can we sleep here with you?”

Ethan notes the plushie. “He’s not helping you sleep?”

Jacob shakes his head, then lowers it.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Maybe I can take you to your brother, or Zyra.”

“No. I want Captain America.” His voice gets heartbreakingly quiet. “You.”

I can see on Ethan’s face that he doesn’t know what to do. He begins looking around and then he catches me watching. I begin walking towards the bed.

“Hey, buddy.” 

Jacob turns his head to look at me. 

“How about both Captain America and Black Widow sleep with you tonight?”

I see Jacob’s face light up. “Not Black Widow. Agent Carter. She’s always with Captain America.”

“OK. Agent Carter then.”

“Who’s Agent Carter?” 

“Ethan, weren’t you paying attention at the end of the movie? That’s the girl he stays back in time for. His true love,” Jacob explains. 

_His true love_. 

Ethan’s eyes catch mine at those words. 

“I don’t think we made it to that part of the movie, buddy.” 

Jacob puts a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Ethan! I didn’t mean to spoil the movie for you.”

“No worries. It only makes me want to watch it more.”

I grab two more pillows from the closet and put them on the bed. I pull the covers back. 

“Ok, scoot over you two.”

Ethan slides over. Jacob hops on the bed in excitement while cuddling his Captain America. I slide in and begin to lay down, leaving enough space between me and Ethan. 

Jacob jumps on top of Ethan, kneeing him in the rib. Ethan winces but then they both laugh. Their combined laughters are a full-hearted sound. Ethan raises Jacob up in the air. He continues his contagious laughter, holding his arms out as if he’s flying. 

“Look Zyra, I’m Falcon!”

My smile deepens into laughter. “OK, you two troublemakers. Time for bed.” I pat the empty space next to me. 

Ethan puts Jacob down between us and pulls the covers up over all of us. My brother turns on his side towards Ethan. I caress Jacob’s head as he begins to fall asleep. His plushie wedged between him and Ethan. Ethan is also turned on his side towards both of us, but his eyes are on mine. But this time I don’t look away. For the first time in a long time, I feel the man I love is right here with me again. 

I mouth “Thank you.”

I allow myself to give in just for tonight. As I lay there, I feel no shadows over my heart, not with the heart rending tenderness in his gaze that stays on me long after I fall asleep.


	5. The Family (WITHHOLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra is with her family in Colorado, but her intense feelings may either worsen or improve the situation.

Crash!

I turn around and notice that the cord to the vacuum cleaner is caught on the leg of the end table near the couch. Mama’s antique, purple vase is now shattered in pieces on the floor. The bouquet of flowers are mixed amongst the glass shards in a puddle of water, which is now staining the carpet.

The immediate thought in my mind were the very words from that opera:

 _Death and despair are blazing around me_. 

But this time I am the cause. 

Mama has had that vase ever since she and Papa got married. It was one of their wedding gifts. They didn’t have a big wedding. If I remember correctly, they had a small church wedding with close family, and it was granny, her mother, who had given them the vase as a gift. It has been something Mama treasured most, and Papa would bring her flowers every month to put in the vase. He never missed a month. 

And now the last flowers Papa ever brought Mama are displaced on the floor and surrounded by the shattered remnants of the symbol of their life together.

I quickly drop to my knees to try to salvage the flowers and put them back together into a bouquet of sorts. There are sea lavenders, white daisies, orange roses, and yellow carnations. But I fumble with them, not knowing how they originally looked. 

“What was that sound?” Mama comes out from the kitchen. 

Jacob, my little brother, looks at me from his dusting spot at the coffee table. He looks terrified.

“Mama, I’m so sorry. I--” But just the look on her face cuts me off from saying another word. 

“Out!” She just stares at the mess on the floor, her expression clouded with anger.

I’m still holding some of the flowers in my now trembling hand. And without much of a warning, she slaps the flowers out from it. She doesn’t even look at me, as I clutch my hand to my chest, feeling the lingering ache. 

“Get out.” Her initial angry tone has now been replaced with a more somber one.

“Mama, I didn’t mean--I’m sorry.”

She holds up a hand to me, still never once looking in my direction. I clench my jaw to keep my shame and sorrow from spilling over. 

“Jacob, go upstairs and clean your room,” Mama says. 

My brother’s eyes meet mine. He grabs his Captain America figure that he's kept at his side, and then he races past me and speeds up the stairs. 

I begin to follow Jacob up to his room, but I glance back at Mama as I take each step slowly. I witness her picking up each flower with care, holding them in her hand as if they were fragile memories that I nearly destroyed. She then breaks down and begins weeping.

I hesitate from going any further, wanting to hurry back down the stairs and to embrace her while she cries. But I know better than to interrupt her vulnerable moment, especially since I am the source of her additional pain. 

I swallow hard and bite back my tears. I then continue up the stairs to my brother’s room.

* * *

I’m with Jacob in his room, helping him pick up. He has toys all over. I gather some and begin to put them into piles based on categories: Avengers, Ninja Turtles, Legos, Star Wars. 

“Hey, buddy, do you know who my favorite Avenger is?” I hold up Black Widow. “She’s pretty amazing, don’t you think? So strong and powerful. Outsmarts a lot of the enemies. I mean, who wouldn’t love her?”

I give him a wide smile, but he only shrugs and continues making his bed with his Captain America taking a ride in the back pocket of his jeans. My smile drops.

I see a Ninja Turtle. I pick it up and try to change my voice to sound like a stereotypical Californian surfer dude. 

“Hey Jacob, cowabunga dude!” 

I make Michaelangelo dance on Jacob’s shoulder. He just pushes my hand away. 

“Stop, Zyra.”

_At least you’re talking to me now._

“OK, OK.”

I grab some plastic bins and begin to put his toys away in them.

I pick up another toy. “Ah, Thor.”  
  
“No!” Jacob rushes me and snatches the figure from my hand. He then carefully sets it on his night stand and poses it carefully, before going back to making his bed.

I just sit there wondering what just happened, merely staring at him, tongue-tied. His angry outburst is similar to Mama’s. It appears I triggered something for him.

I continue cleaning up. I grip a Darth Vader action figure in my hand, but ignore the temptation to try to act him out for my brother. And it’s too bad because I have a wicked impression. It’s a hidden talent few have ever had the honor to witness. I place it carefully into a bin and then slide it under his bed.

* * *

I’m sitting outside on the stoop, pondering how I upset both my mother and my brother today. If I had stayed inside any longer, I don’t think I could have kept my mask up for either of them. I need the mask to disguise my own pain and sorrow, so I need to recharge before I return inside.

_You’re doing such an excellent job at being there for them, aren’t you Zyra?_

I roll my eyes at the voice in my head. 

“I don’t see you helping,” I mutter under my breath.

I’m trying to be the strong one. I cannot afford to break in front of my family. But, unfortunately, I broke something else instead. 

The vase. 

Mama loved that vase, and I was stupid enough to not take care enough while I was cleaning. I’m beginning to question my ability to help her now. I can’t even help my brother who has barely spoken two words to me since I’ve been here. 

I pull out my phone and notice some new texts from Sienna.

**ST: Esme’s butting heads with Jackie A LOT.**

_That’s not surprising. It’s only temporary Esme. I’ll be back soon._

**ST: How are you? The funeral is tomorrow, isn’t it?**

_...Yes._

**ST: I heard Dr. Mirani ask about you to Dr. Ramsey. From what I overheard, Dr. Ramsey sounded annoyed by the question.**

_Annoyed? What does that even mean?_

My internal questions force me to check my messages from Ethan. Still nothing. No texts. No emails. No voicemails. Not even a missed call. 

_I’m a fool for expecting differently._  
  
I put my phone away. I’ll reply to Sienna later.

With the sun high up in the sky, it’s rays blaze down on me. I should feel something from them. A gentle warmth. A slight sizzle against my skin. Something. But I only feel an overwhelming numbness. I haven’t been able to properly express any of my feelings. The anger still lingers, but after today it’s been overtaken by guilt. 

Right now I wish there were a rulebook for how to handle this situation. I’m sure Ethan has one with all of his many self-established rules. But he would probably run off, leaving his family alone because he can’t properly deal with his feelings. He’d be locked away somewhere drowning his sorrows in multiple bottles of scotch. That’s what he did to Naveen. 

_It was much more complicated than that, and you know it._  
  
I groan at my voice of reason.

_Just allow me to wallow irrationally for a moment, please._

Well, if there is anything I have in common with Ethan, it is that I feel like a disappointment to my family right now. I don’t know how to be there for them. But unlike Ethan, I’m not going to run away selfishly. 

As I continue to wallow, I see someone approaching. I look up, but I cannot see clearly as the sun is now directly in my eyes. I place a hand over my eyes to bring the figure into view.

It’s Ms. Austin, or Laura, as she has encouraged me to address her now that I’m grown. She’s a good family friend, and has been our neighbor ever since we moved here when I was five. She’s always been like a second mother to me and is around Mama’s age. She lives alone across the street, but I used to love to dog sit for her. She used to have a chihuahua named Dallas. He passed some years ago and now she upgraded to a bigger dog, a german shepard, whom she affectionately calls Junior, short for Dallas Jr. She’s a person who has always found comfort in her work. She never had any inclination for a family or even to marry, not when being an occupational therapist has kept her life busy and fulfilled. That and her dogs.

She’s walking towards me in a dark blue business suit, with a white, silk blouse underneath. Her entire demeanor and impeccable appearance reminds me of Dr. Emery. She’s elegant, tall, and carries herself with a strong and admirable confidence. 

_Dr. Emery. Ethan’s Harper. They probably belong together. She’s no longer Chief, so it’s only a matter of time..._

“Hello, Zyra.” 

Her greeting breaks my insecure thinking.

“Hi, Laura.”

I see a dish in her hands. It’s probably a casserole like from the other neighbors. 

“I saw you sitting out here, so I thought it would be a good time to bring your family this.”  
  
I stand up and take the dish. I look inside relieved to see lasagna.

“Thanks. We appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

She gives me a hug. I feel her hands rub my back. It lingers as her arms begin to tighten around me. I can only hug her back with one arm, while holding onto the dish.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your dad.” 

She finally pulls away. Her hands are on my shoulders as she gives me a sympathetic look.  
  
“How’s everyone?”

I shake my head and take my original seat back on the step. I hold the dish in my lap. Laura was someone I could always talk to. When I wasn’t getting along with my parents, when I was having trouble at school, when I had fights with my older brother Elliot, when I was apprehensive about applying to medical school, she was always there. Even now.

She takes the space next to me on the stoop and sits down. She usually stays quiet and waits for me to speak first. That’s what she’s doing now, but I don’t even know where to start or how much I should even tell her. 

“I just can’t believe Papa is gone. He’s just gone. There was no warning. Nothing.”

“I know. It was quite a shock.”  
  
“As a doctor, I need to know medically the reason, but all they say is that his heart just gave out while he slept. He went peacefully.”

“At least he didn’t suffer.”

“But he shouldn’t have even died in the first place.” I raise my voice in anger, clenching the corners of the glass dish. “It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.”  
  
“Sometimes there’s no explanation, even though that can be hard for us to understand and even harder to accept.”

“There’s a lot of things these days that don’t make much sense.”  
  
I sigh and I feel her hand on my shoulder.

“Things not going well in Boston?”  
  
_Depends. But there is someone in particular. It’s probably best I don’t even bring it up._  
  
“Just a lot of intense... cases.”

“Your mom tells me you’re on this very prestigious team. And they’ve never had a resident on it before.”

“Yeah, it’s been quite a learning curve.”

“And you get to work with your medical hero. He’s your mentor now, right? What’s his name again?”

Having her bring him up catches me off guard. I am unable to move, but I can feel her eyes on me, waiting for my response.

“Um, Ethan Ramsey.”  
  
“Ramsey. That’s right. He’s the top, what was it?”

I begin pressing my fist against my thigh.

“Diagnostician. That’s the specialty I’m working towards.” 

“Well, I’m so proud of you. Your dad was too. I hope you know that.”  
  
I nod and smile softly, but solemnly.  
  
“I’m going to go inside and see your mom, OK?”

“She’s a bit upset at the moment.” I look back at the front door, as I know what’s waiting for me inside. “But I’m sure she’ll be thankful to see you. We were just cleaning for tomorrow’s reception.”

Laura stands up. “I’ll take this with me then. Perhaps this can bring a little light into her day.” She takes the dish and heads inside. 

Maybe she can help my mama because I have failed at it so far.

* * *

Mama’s at the kitchen table with Laura. They’ve been talking for the past half hour. I’ve heard them both cry and laugh with serious discussions in between. I’ve just been keeping my distance, giving Mama some time with her friend.

I’m currently finishing up cleaning the den. My uncle, Mama’s brother, and aunt, his wife, will be staying with us tomorrow night after the funeral. Mama insisted that the den be prepared for them. 

I’m carrying some sheets to the washing machine. While I’m putting them in, I feel a pair of hands cover my eyes. Reflexively, I elbow the person behind me and hear a subdued “ouch”. 

I turn around and see my older brother, Elliot, holding his side.

“Damn, Zyra. You’ve been taking up some self-defense lessons out there in Boston, or something?”

I don’t even respond. Instead I just wrap my arms around his shoulders and hug him in need. All of the emotions I’ve been holding in finally come out. I just cry. He wraps his arms around me, holding me to him. 

“Hey hey, it’ll be OK, sis.”

He holds me like that until I stop crying. Once I do, I back away, rubbing at my eyes as I chuckle sheepishly.  
  
“Sorry. It’s been quite the week.”

He doesn’t respond but gently pushes me out of the way from in front of the washing machine. He finishes putting in the sheets, pours in the laundry detergent, and then starts it for me. I just lean back against the wall, watching him.

“You’re really early. We thought you were coming in later tonight.”

“Plans changed. I called Mama too about dinner. I brought in some chicken after she told me about all the casseroles in the fridge. I was like ‘No, thank you.’”

“You’re a lifesaver. That’s all we’ve been eating all week.”

“Jesus! Seriously?”

His infectious laugh makes me laugh with him. But my expression turns serious when I stop. My gaze is to the floor.

“Hey, let’s go for a walk.”  
  
“Are you sure?” I ask as my gaze moves up to his face.

“Yeah. It looks like you need someone to talk to. And freely.”

We head out through the side door in the laundry room and begin walking along the sidewalk around the neighborhood. Elliot pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

"Come on, you're with a doctor here."

"You're off duty, ain't ya?"

I just grab the cigarette, drop it to the ground, and stomp on it. 

"Dude! You own me one. No. An entire pack."  
  
"Let's just say I'm helping us both live a little longer."

He begins to pull out another one, but I give him a very dirty look, one only meant for an older brother from a younger sister.

"Fine. Fine. No smoking around the fam."

"I thought that was obvious."

I slap him on the backside of his head and snicker. He rubs the back of his head as we walk past the houses in our neighborhood. The quietness helps calm my racing thoughts.

“I’m just so angry. I feel like I’m becoming an entirely different person.”

“Yeah. I get that. I do.”

We walk to the corner in silence before my brother asks me a specific question.

“Is the anger just about Papa?”

I begin to turn the corner, continuing along the sidewalk. 

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Well, I can tell you have a lot on your mind, Zyra.”

“Who doesn’t?” I scoff.

“Zyra, come on. What’s going on?”

After we reach the next corner, I finally tell him everything. The argument with Ethan and Papa’s death all in the same day. And this entire week so far where I’ve felt like a huge disappointment to Mama and Jacob. 

“That’s a lot.”

I look over at Elliot, who’s looking ahead pensively. 

“First off, if you ask me, that Ethan guy sounds like a real prick.”  
  
I can’t help but chuckle at his choice of words. 

“Seriously, Zyra. Someone like that doesn’t deserve you. And it’s obvious that he doesn’t know what he wants. That’s a huge red flag. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that. The sooner you let him go, the better it will be for you.”

“I know. That’s the part that scares me.”  
  
“Why?”

“Because I know he cares about me. And with everything we went through together last year, I thought we could try to make it work somehow, but then--”  
  
“He fled his cowardly ass off to the Amazon.”

I nod.

“Sis, that should give you your answer right there.”

“I know. But sometimes I wish things were different between us. I wish he were here.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because with him, I feel…”  
  
“Sis, listen to yourself. This man obviously has issues that’s keeping him from being with you. You can’t wait around for him and expect him to change. That’s not fair to you. You gotta live your life and waiting around for a man who won't commit is not how you should be living your life.”

“All I’m trying to say is that if I had someone important, I’d have him here with me without a second thought.”

I see Elliot turn his head towards me.  
  
“What are you trying to say?”  
  
“I’m saying that David should be here with you.”  
  
“So now it's about me and David. Sis, I love you, but that’s ignorant as hell. You know you bringing a guy home is not the same as me bringing a guy home. I run the risk of being disowned by Mama. And with the funeral and everything, I don’t think Mama seeing me with David is going to help matters.”

I bite my lower lip and begin to chew it.

“Sorry, El, you’re right.” 

“And with everything else, it’s OK to be mad. You can let yourself be mad about Papa. That’s normal, Zyra. We’re grieving and we all are figuring out how to deal with our shared loss.”  
  
I contemplate his words. “When did you get so smart?”  
  
“I’ve always been like this. You just never wanted to listen to the wisdom of your big bro.”

He shoves me with his elbow and throws his head back and laughs. Then he drapes his arm across my shoulders, as we continue our walk like that. 

“And don’t worry about Mama. She knows it was an accident. She’ll get over it in time. And Zyra…” The side of my neck is against the crook of his elbow and he pulls me against him. “Our family isn't like your patients. You don’t have to be strong for us all the time. We carry each other through the good and the bad ‘cause that’s what family does. And if you need a shoulder today or tomorrow, you've always got mine.”

I think about everything Elliot told me, and talking to him was what I needed. I’m trying to be the shoulder for everyone, but that’s emotionally unrealistic. We can be each other’s. And as hard as it is to admit, I don’t need Ethan to be here as my shoulder. Not now and not ever again. I've got Elliot and that's enough for now.

* * *

Laura left after we returned from our walk, and turned down Mama’s offer to stay for dinner. But she sent Laura home with a plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and a biscuit. She’ll see us tomorrow at the funeral. 

We’ve almost finished through the entire chicken meal, but there was not much conversation tonight. Jacob picks at the scraps left on his plate. Mama begins to clear the table. And Elliot grabs the last piece of chicken--a drumstick. 

“Zyra, baby, I want to straighten your hair tonight. It’ll be better for the funeral tomorrow.”

“Mama, I think I’m going to keep my hair the way it is.”  
  
Mama slams her plate in the sink and turns around, glaring at me.  
  
“You listen to me, we are fixing that kinky hair of yours and that’s final.”

_I’ve stopped straightening my hair in college, Mama._

Before I can even get a word in, Elliot gets up.  
  
“Hey Mama, let me take care of the dishes for you.”

“Thanks, baby. Zyra, finish the den for your uncle, and Jacob let’s get you in the bath. You meet me upstairs when you’re done, Zyra, you hear me?” Her tone is strict. I feel like I’m a teenager all over again.  
  
“Yes, Mama.”

Mama takes Jacob upstairs as Elliot cleans up the kitchen. 

“Just give this one to Mama, OK?” Elliot suggests against the gentle sounds of the running water from the faucet. 

I bring him the rest of the dishes. I put some of the leftovers into the refrigerator, but I stop and see some concert tickets behind a magnet with a picture of Papa. _The Rolling Stones._ That’s Papa’s favorite band. It seems they were going to go next month. The realization that he won’t be able to go hits me, and I slam the door shut and head into the den. I don’t even bother to look back at Elliot. I’m sure he’s watching me with a bewildered look. I’m certain he’ll bring it up later, but I don’t feel like talking about it. To distract myself, I finish preparing the den. I put the clean sheets on the pull out bed, dust a bit, and vacuum. 

It’s a bit after 8 once I finish and I head upstairs to Mama’s room. 

I walk past Jacob’s room. The door is cracked. He’s already in bed with his nightlight on. I whisper a "good night" as I peek through and then go into Mama’s room. The lights are on in both the bedroom and her bathroom. I can see the broken pieces of her vase in a large Ziploc bag on top of her dresser. The flowers are back in an arrangement inside a clear, glass vase. 

Mama comes out from the bathroom. 

“Ready? The flat iron is heated up.”

I nod and follow Mama into her bathroom. I sit down in a chair and she prepares me.

“Goodness, Zyra. You have so much hair.”

“I kinda like it this way though.”

Mama doesn’t say anything and begins to part my hair into sections. She takes her time applying hair balm and a heat protectant before straightening each section. As she goes through the process, I can see my curly kinks now expand to their full length, cascading below my shoulders.

She continues in silence, but I peek up at her once in a while through the mirror. I bite my lower lip as I muster up the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Mama.”

I see her purse her lips.

“Hold your ear for me.”  
  
I fold my ear forward and hold it while Mama straightens the hair close to my ear.

“I’m sorry too, baby.” She lets out a soft sigh. “This hasn’t been easy.”

“I know, Mama. And I didn’t mean to make it worse. I know how important that vase was to you.”

“You didn’t. I overreacted. It was something very special to me and your father. It's just a reminder for me that he’s truly gone.”

I feel a single tear streak down my cheek.  
  
“I know.”

“Baby, when you find someone special, you hang on to them because you never know what the next day or the next hour or the next second will bring. You’re a doctor, I know you understand how fragile life is. Don’t take it for granted. Make the best of every moment you have with the people you love.”

_And what if they don’t love you back?_

“I’m happy you are here, baby. You have no idea how much it means to have all my babies here with me.”

Mama places a hand on my shoulder. I reach up and grasp it, squeezing it tightly. 

“I’ll always be here for you, all of us will.”

We hold each other’s gaze in the mirror as our vulnerability is exposed on our faces. Mama then collects herself and continues straightening my hair. Our conversation is now more open. She goes on about the plan for tomorrow, she tells me about Jacob and his school, she gives me updates on the family. I return the gesture and tell her about my residency and my friends, but I leave out one person in detail. Ethan. 

_The sooner you let him go, the better it will be for you._

Elliot’s words repeat in my mind, and he’s absolutely right. And by talking about him outside of his mentorship will not help matters. He is my mentor and my boss. Nothing more. It could never be anything more than that.

_Sometimes there’s no explanation, even though that can be hard for us to understand and even harder to accept._

Then Laura’s words settle in my mind. I can’t understand Ethan’s perspective and why it’s so difficult for him to give in to his feelings. But I need to learn to accept what is. 

Over an hour later, I’m looking in the mirror at my new straight, silky-looking do. I turn my head from side to side. I look weird. My head looks so small now. 

“Beautiful,” Mama states with a smile. 

She then sprays it with some oil sheen and wraps it in a scarf. If this makes her happy then so be it.

* * *

I’m lying in bed, finally replying to Sienna. We exchange information. I tell her about my day and she tells me about hers. 

**ST: I’m so happy everything’s OK with your mom!**

**ZL: Same. I was really worried.**

**ST: Your brother sounds amazing! :D**

**ZL: He’s alright. LOL**

**ST: So we saw Dr. Ramsey at Donahue’s.  
  
ZL: ???  
  
ST: He’s really grumpy lately. :(**

**ZL: What else is new?**

**ST: He kept checking his phone a lot.**

I’m trying hard not to read too much into what Sienna is saying. But I can’t help but wonder if he’s waiting for me to reach out to him.

_No, Zyra! You need to try to get over him. This is not the way to do it. And you're just making a really huge assumption there._

**ST: How are you feeling about tomorrow?**

This begins a long conversation. I fill her in on everything. While I’m still chatting with her, I hear a scream coming from my baby brother’s room. I don’t even give a single thought to replying to Sienna’s last text. 

I run out from my room. Elliot is already there with our brother. He’s sitting on the bed, holding Jacob in his arms. He’s crying as he clutches his Captain America plushie against his chest. I see his Thor poster ripped in half. Half of the poster is still on the wall. The other half is on the floor. 

Mama soon comes in and hurries to Jacob, who immediately reaches out to her. She holds him, rocking him in a tender rhythm. 

“Papa! Papa!” Jacob cries into Mama’s bosom. 

I go to sit on the opposite side of Mama. I set my gaze on Elliot, who already has tears swelling in his eyes. I begin to mirror him. We both wrap our arms around Mama and Jacob, as we all let out our sadness for Papa in one unifying sob.

* * *

Mama stayed with Jacob and fell asleep with him in her arms. Elliot and I returned to our rooms, hoping to get some sleep for tomorrow. 

But now I have six hours before I have to get up, except I can’t sleep. The bright light from my phone screen further keeps me awake. I text Sienna back telling her what happened, but she must have fallen asleep. I'll text her after the funeral. 

I then absentmindedly begin scrolling through my messages. I stop on one of my contacts. As I read the name repeatedly in my mind, memories with him begin to return in full detail. 

_He’s probably not even up._

I send a simple text anyway:

**ZL: Hi**

I immediately see the text dots appear at the bottom. A soft smile hints on my lips.  
  
  
  



	6. The Funeral (CALL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the day of the funeral.

Something pushing against my side sticks itself between my ribs, waking me up. I exhale a choked groan. My eyes open startled. My body slides backwards, allowing my ribs to breathe. I gently rub the ache. 

My vision begins to adjust to the morning light that filters through the bay window, revealing a unique sight. I rub my eyes a few more times in disbelief and raise myself on one arm to steal a better look. 

Jacob is lying diagonally across both of us. His feet--the perpetrators against my ribs--lay a few inches next to me. But his upper torso is draped face down across Ethan’s abdomen. His Captain America plushie is locked within the crook of his arm. One of Ethan’s hands is resting on top of my brother’s head, his thumb lingering along the edge of the low fade. His fingertips disappear within the curls of my brother’s short Afro.

There’s a drool stain adding color to Ethan’s white t-shirt. The stain has the circumference of a tennis ball, with irregular edges that give its shape an abstract look. It’s also dried. Evidence that Jacob has been in that position for a while. My brother is a notorious drooler. Mama constintently has to wash and change his pillowcases. We’ll probably have to do the same for Ethan’s shirt as a gesture of apology. I bite my lip to stifle a chuckle. 

But my amusement quickly shifts to one of admiration. My gaze flickers between their both sleeping and peaceful forms. Jacob’s head rises as Ethan inhales and lowers with each exhale. It’s as if they are resting peacefully against the gentle ocean currents carrying them in the direction of home. Ethan keeps my brother protected on the journey. 

But once they awaken, a storm will cut through the waters creating large, high waves that will simultaneously crush and drown them. They will sink towards the bottomless ocean never knowing where their final resting place will be. Tides will carry their fragile bodies across the ocean’s vast reaches, their bodies decomposing and devoured by sea critters. No matter Ethan’s intentions, he and my brother will never survive. 

_Don’t wake up. Not yet._

I beg. Plead. 

Perhaps this resistance has more to do with my fear of facing what is to come today. Perhaps I am afraid of being the one who will sink into and drown in the abyss. 

_They say that the people you love are never really gone._

I fall back against my pillow and sigh as my chest begins to tighten. 

_How much I wish that were true._

I then hear footsteps. My eyes dart to the ceiling. Mama is up. 

_Let us stay afloat safely for just a little while longer._

I roll my body onto its side, my face nearing Ethan’s. His face is still positioned in the same direction from the moment I fell asleep with his softened expression watching me. It spoke to me as I relaxed into it until my eyes had shut for good and ended our wordless conversation and the connection I’ve come to imagine we have. It’s hard to dismiss it when we have moments like these. 

_Terribly hard and troublesome._

But the closeness is frightening, and I slide a bit more back. I lay there, taking in his sleeping expression and ruffled hair. Those same, untamed strands of hair fall across his forehead, which holds a few frown lines from age or habit. Either way, they only add to his attractive aesthetic. 

_I think he’s aged like a fine wine._

My lips tighten into a smile as Dolores’ words enter my mind. 

I extend my hand and caress the rebel strands back up to join those of their equal likeness. I then hesitantly let my hand fall slowly along the side of his face. My fingertips gently trace along his angular, high cheekbones and strong jawline clothed in his beard, a shade darker than the silky, brown locks amassed on top of his head. 

I hadn’t felt his beard since that moment I stole a kiss from him the night he returned. It was unlike the rough and ticklish sensation of his stubble against my skin. As brief as it was, it was soft, almost like velvet. And as I now allow my fingers to linger against the strands trimmed close to his face, my mind lingers on the memory, my gaze along his lips. 

I caress his lips with my eyes, tracing their shape. They dip down along his well-defined cupid’s bow across the top of his thinner upper lip. I continue following along towards the edge where it meets his fuller, lower lip. Delicious. I study the vertical ridges that are etched across it. They seem to tell a story. And if I look long and hard enough, I may be able to find where my story intersects with his. They look moist, healthy. Not chapped or cracked. This only means they would be warm and moist enough to lubricate mine, shocking renewed and sustained life into me. How much I need it now.

_Be careful, Zyra._

My fingers are still against his jawline, savoring the feeling of his skin underneath. My focus still on his lips. But then my body feels stiff, unable to even bend a finger at a joint because I see his piercing blue eyes looking at me. They’re half opened, but fully peering at me in a soft and gentle, but sleepy gaze. I’m too shocked, too embarrassed to move, to retract my hand. I’m just waiting for the moment where he will grab my wrist and pull my hand away. 

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move either. 

A twinkle of the invading sunlight catches his eyes as he stares back at me. We are repeating the same silent conversation from last night. But this time, I am unable to relax. I want to avert my gaze, but his eyes are strong, pulling me to him like some gravitational force that I am powerless to resist.

It isn’t until I feel a swift kick against my stomach that I finally draw back my hand, using it to clutch my stomach. My eyelids force themselves shut, making me break from Ethan’s hypnotic gaze. 

I bite my lower lip, taking in a sharp inhale of breath that prickles against the skin caught under my teeth. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Ethan’s because it encloses around the curve of my shoulder in its entirety. 

“I’m fine,” I blurt out in a hoarse whisper. 

When the sharp pain subsides, my eyes automatically open. The hand that was resting on Jacob’s head is now on me. 

“The dangers of sleeping with your little brother.” I give a bashful smile and cock an eyebrow towards my fierce, oblivious kicker.

Ethan’s look of concern relaxes, as does his hand, which falls back against his side. His hand now hidden underneath the sheets. He tilts his head down, his chin near his chest as he looks at my brother.

“Sorry about this.” I begin to rub Jacob’s back.

“It’s fine. I honestly do not mind.” Ethan says with a deep, sleepy tone. 

He leans his head back into his pillow and gives me a smile that matches the softness in his eyes. 

“Hey buddy, you have to get up now,” I say to my brother.

Ethan doesn’t move, but neither does Jacob. He’s always been a tough one to wake up. I believe it is time for some payback.

My fingertips run across the soles of his bare feet like feathers. He begins to giggle, which then turns into full blown laughter. It has probably woken everyone up in the house by now. He turns over onto his back, sliding off Ethan as he tries to kick me away. I grab the ankle of one of his legs before his foot makes contact with me. But I’ve underestimated my little brother’s strength. I don’t realize what has happened until I feel my back slam against the carpeted floor. The back of my head follows right behind. A sensation like a bolt of electricity radiates in hot waves along my spine and to my head.

“Zyra!” Ethan calls. Jacob gasps.

Jacob peeks over the side of the bed. His hand reaches out to touch my arm. Ethan throws off the covers and is immediately at my side. 

As I look up at the terrified looks on both of their faces, all I can do is laugh. It probably sounds more like a high-pitched cackle. I pull Jacob off the bed and he falls down next to me. Our combined laughter creates a unique sibling harmony that fills the den. 

Ethan sits on the bed, his shoulders forward and more relaxed. He’s just shaking his head, watching us with an amused smirk.

“Well, good morning.” Mama is standing in the doorway, holding some towels.

Jacob and I slowly sit up and greet her.

“Now, this is no time for games. Get up. Now.” Mama seems on edge this morning. She holds out a hand. “Jacob, come on, baby. We need to start getting you ready.”

Jacob begins to get up. But Ethan stops him.

“You almost forgot this.” He holds my brother’s Captain America towards him. Jacob takes it and then hugs his real-life Steve Rogers. 

“Thanks,” he says in a shy tone. He then goes and takes Mama’s hand.

“And Ethan, I hope you slept well. I’m going to leave these towels for you in the bathroom here.”

“I appreciate that, Janet.” 

Ethan turns to me once we’re alone. 

“That was an unprecedented way to start a morning.” Ethan runs a hand through his hair. The rebel strands return to rest along his forehead.

“Welcome to the Lewis’.” I chuckle while beginning to get up from the floor, rubbing the back of my head. Ethan offers me his hand, but I refuse the offer. “I’m all right, but thanks.”

I look at the clock on the wall. 

“We leave in about an hour. Take your time getting ready.”

I head for the door, but I can feel his eyes on my back. I can feel that he wants to say something. His need alone penetrates the silence in the room until he finally speaks.

“Are you sure your head is alright?”

I stop and turn around. He’s now standing, facing me. 

“Yes. I promise.” I give him a shy smile.

Ethan nods and I begin to leave. But I place my hand on the doorframe, stopping myself from moving further. I turn my head back to look at him. I knew he was watching me leave because he’s still in the same position, his focus in my direction. But something crosses my mind that I remember I needed to tell him.

“By the way, sorry about this.” I point to the left side of my stomach. 

Ethan looks at me in bewilderment, but realization hits him and he looks down at his shirt.

“What the–?”

* * *

"We do not have time to straighten your hair. I knew we should have done it last night.”  
  
Mama is rushing around, ensuring that the three of us are getting ready. She has let me use her bathroom while my brothers use the shared one. I’m finishing up with my hair and makeup. But in the mirror, I see her looking at me disapprovingly from behind. I’m trying not to pay mind to her criticisms right now. 

When I’m finished, I go to my room to change. I slip out of my robe and pull up my dress, zipping up the back once I’m finished. The sheer fabric at my shoulders leaves my skin vulnerable to the slight draft coming in from my window. I finish off the dress with a black, thin belt adorned with a silver buckle. I then grab my shoes. They’re just a simple pair of black flats with a buckle strap around the ankles. I slip them on, fastening them as my thoughts are elsewhere. 

_This is the last day I will ever see Papa._

As I finish the last strap, my right hand begins to tremble uncontrollably. I shake it a few times, but it won’t stop. I grasp it in my other hand, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

“It’ll be OK. It’ll be OK,” I quietly say to myself.

The trembling stops. 

I make my way down the hall and see both of my brothers in Jacob’s room. Elliot is teaching Jacob how to do his tie. He adjusts the small knot, sliding it up to meet the center of the collar. Jacob whines and begins pulling at it. Elliot doesn’t say anything, and loosens it a bit for our brother, who looks more satisfied with the new adjustment. 

“You two look sharp. Did you plan to match or was that a coincidence?”

“You know your bros both be styling,” Elliot says with a wink in my direction.

I feel Mama come up behind me.  
  
“Absolutely not, Elliot. You’re not wearing Nikes to your father’s funeral. Put on your dress shoes.”

“But, Mama--”

“Don’t ‘but’ me. Change them.”

Mama takes Jacob out to finish getting ready.

“I’m a fuckin’ grown ass man,” Elliot mutters under his breath.

“She’s a bit more heightened today. Just let her be.”

I wait for Elliot to change his shoes, and we go downstairs to the kitchen to wait for Mama and Jacob. I get the coffee brewing and we both take a seat at the table. But Elliot keeps tugging at each heel.

“These things keep digging into my skin.”

“Are they new?”

“Yeah. David picked them out for me, but I think they’re a bit tight.”

I chuckle. “You didn’t try breaking them in first?”

“Between you and me, I was hoping to wear something more comfortable.”

I shake my head at him, a small smile still pasted on my face from the humor of the situation. I pull out some mugs and pour us some coffee. After handing him one, I begin to leave.

“I should probably go check on Ethan.”

But as I finish that sentence, I see him appear in the doorway of the kitchen. He’s in a black, fitted suit similar to Elliot but more expensive, more sturdy and with seams woven together in expert fashion, only enhancing the clean lines of Ethan’s lean, muscular form. He’s carrying his duffle bag in one hand, his other resting deep in his pocket. His bed hair is gone and has returned to its full, silky lushness that elegantly curves along his head. The color of his eyes pop against the full black attire, creating a tempting focal point. His posture and quiet demeanor resemble something of a model posing for a cover shoot. And Ethan would make one fine model.

“Damn,” I blurt out under my breath without realizing it.

“Damn is right. Your boy cleans up good, real good.” I look over at Elliot who looks a bit in awe at my… colleague.

“El!” I feel all the blood rushing to my face.

Ethan clears his throat. “Good morning, Elliot. Zyra.”  
  
“Morning.” My brother looks him up and down. 

“Coffee, Ethan?” I ask.

Ethan nods with a simple thank you. I catch his eyes running along my curves before taking a seat at the table. He places his bag next to his chair. I try to catch my breath after I turn around, my back to him, and pour the coffee.

“What brand is that?” Elliot asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your suit.”

I return to the table and hand Ethan his coffee before I sit. Elliot’s eyes are tracing along every inch of Ethan’s suit, admiring it.

“M&S,” Ethan responds.

“What’s that?”

“Marks and Spencer. It’s a brand from the UK.”

I take a sip of my coffee, observing their conversation. I didn’t know Ethan was into UK fashion. This man is full of surprises, but given how secretive he is about his personal life, it makes sense.

“Never heard of it.” Elliot taps his fingers against his mug.  
  
“It’s from David Gandy’s collection.”  
  
“Never heard of him either.” Elliot pulls out his phone. I see him doing a Google search, bringing up pictures of Gandy and M&S attire. 

Ethan turns his attention to me. “I’m going to put my bag in the car.”

“I’ll go with you.” I begin to stand.

Elliot waves us off. “We’ll continue this convo after my research.”

* * *

I’m standing on the sidewalk near the back of Ethan’s rental car. 

“A Sedan? You couldn’t change things up a bit?”

Ethan chuckles as he pops the trunk.

“Why should I change something that has been working for me?”

His gaze catches mine and lingers for a moment. His eyebrows draw together as some shield holding back the pain hinting in his eyes. He then looks away hastily and sets his bag in the trunk and closes it. I see something in his hand.

“What’s that?” I point.

“Some cufflinks. I was about to put them on.”  
  
“May I help?”

Without even the slightest hesitation, he holds out his hand, offering me the silver, modest cufflinks. They’re probably just as expensive as his suit though. I take them with care, praying that I don’t drop them. I begin to do his right cuff, then his left. I focus only on the cuffs. Never once do I give in to my temptation to dart a glance up at him. I’d rather he be watching and judging my technique rather than staring at me with that same nonverbal affirmation that shows he does give a damn about me. 

_What does him being here even mean? The answer shouldn’t matter right now._

When I finish, my hands linger as they hold on to his left wrist. My thumb rests against the fastened cufflink. A part of me is waiting for some criticism, but it never comes.

“Thank you.” He pauses. Knowing him, he’s probably observing me as I stare off to the side. “How are you doing?” He asks. 

I release his wrist, clasping my hands together in front of me.

“I don’t know yet.”

He puts his hands into his pockets. 

“Why don’t I drive, so no one has to worry about it today?”

Now I lift my gaze to his. It is then when I realize how close we are standing to each other. If I take a deep inhale, my ribcage will expand along with my breasts, which will gently brush against the fabric of his suit jacket. I can feel the thundering in my chest, and if I can’t get it under control, I will end up closer than I would like. 

“Alright. Thank you. I’ll go tell Mama,” I say and begin to turn around towards the house. Ethan follows.

Once we make it inside, Mama immediately comes to me.

“Elliot is changing the sheets in the den. Remember, your uncle and aunt are staying with us tonight. Can you grab four flowers from the vase and bring them with you?”

“Yeah, sure. But um, Ethan said he can drive us, if that’s OK?”  
  
“Praise the Lord for this angel.” Mama pats Ethan’s cheeks. I notice Ethan automatically stiffen, a slight redness flooding out from under his beard. “I would appreciate it.”

“Mama,” I begin, “did you get coffee? Has Jacob eaten his cereal?”

“Yes. Yes. He’s finishing in the kitchen. Now hurry up. We need to get there for the viewing beforehand to greet everyone.”

Mama heads upstairs probably to grab her purse and do some other last-minute things. 

I go to the end table in the living room to Mama’s purple vase. Ethan remains by the door, watching me. There are four different types of flowers in the last bouquet Papa ever gave to Mama. I take one of each: a sea lavender, a white daisy, an orange rose, and a yellow carnation. I’m not sure what Mama wants with them. Perhaps she wants to place them on his coffin. 

I pause when I think of the word coffin. Then the image of Papa in a coffin. 

“What are those?” Ethan asks, breaking my unpleasant thought.

“Oh, it’s something special between my parents.” I try to refrain from letting any visible emotions creep across my face. “I’ll explain later.”

I begin looking around for something to wrap them in, but it’s as if Ethan has already read my mind. He has pulled out a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“You can use this.”

Now if that isn’t evidence of our connection, then I don’t know what is. 

_No. No it’s not. He’s just really good at reading people, like the brilliant diagnostician he is. I’m no different than any customer walking into a coffee shop._

I wrap the stems of the flowers with it. When I finish, Elliot and Jacob come out to join us. I see Jacob has replaced Captain America with Thor. The action figure is held firmly in one hand. I kneel down to meet Jacob at eye level, placing my hands on his shoulders.

"Today is going to be a challenging day for all of us, buddy. So if you need to cry, it's OK. We've got you."

Jacob only gives a subtle nod. 

Mama then appears on the staircase, silently making her way down. She swings her purse over one shoulder, slips her sunglasses on, and walks out the door.

We all look at each other. I notice Elliot take in a deep breath. Jacob squeezes Thor a little bit tighter. Ethan’s glances dart to each of us, his expression sympathetic. 

We all then quietly follow Mama out. Whatever happens today, we’re either ready for it or we’re not.

_But are we ever really ready for death?_

Regardless, I must remain strong for my family.

* * *

There he is. 

It doesn’t even look like him. He looks more like one of those wax figures at Madame Tussauds. His complexion even looks a shade lighter. For a split second, I even question if this is my father.

But his uniqueness is on display, and without a doubt, that man is Papa. There he is with the same bald head, the same mole on his right temple, the same black beard speckled with white and gray, the same crooked index finger on his left hand and diagonal scar across his left eyebrow from a bike accident in his youth, the same navy blue suit that was his go-to for formal events like my White Coat Ceremony. 

All four of us are standing at the front of the church next to Papa’s coffin. Elliot is holding Jacob in his arms, so our little brother can see his papa one last time. It’s a private, intimate moment for just us before everyone begins filtering in and paying their respects before the service begins. Ethan is out in the lobby with the minister and some of the few who have already shown up. 

Mama hands each of us a flower, keeping the sea lavender for herself. I have the orange rose. We each place our flower in with him, our own private message. Jacob begins to cry, and Elliot helps him put his yellow carnation in. 

Mama dabs at the edges of her eyes with a tissue and then puts her sunglasses back on. 

“Ok, my babies,” she says with a sniffle. 

Elliot looks down at me, his eyes red and brimming with tears that have yet to fall. He places a hand on my back, rubs it gently, and then follows Mama with Jacob now walking between the two of them. My baby brother reaches out to grab Mama’s hand.

Before I follow, I take one last look at Papa, but I don’t like where I’ve placed my flower. It’s currently against his chest. But once the stem is met against my fingertips, my hand begins to tremble again. It feels more like a quake, and I clutch my hand to my chest, hoping for it to end. I do the same mantra I did earlier in my bedroom, but it takes a few more tries before the trembling ceases. The only movement I now feel is the beating of my heart.

I return to the flower, moving it to the side of Papa’s head. The petals hug against his cheek like a kiss. I then bend over and give him a real kiss on his forehead. His skin is hard and cold against my lips.

“I love you,” I quietly choke out. “We’ll be OK. I’ll watch over them. Rest now.”

I make my way out to the lobby. Mama is speaking with my Uncle Justice, Papa’s brother, and my Aunt Nora, his wife. Elliot is with Pastor Ross, probably going over his role as one of the pallbearers. Jacob is sitting with Ethan at a bench near the front entrance. They’re both quiet, but I can see my brother slightly leaning against Ethan’s arm as his hands move Thor’s appendages.

“Zyra,” I hear my uncle call out to me. He approaches and wraps me into a tight hug. “How’s my doctor niece doing?”

“Ok. I’m sorry about Papa, Uncle.”

“Yeah, me too, baby girl.”

He sighs and just drapes an arm across my shoulders. He looks through the double doors into the worship area. His sight makes a direct line to his brother’s coffin. I stare at him, wondering what he’s thinking about.

“I met your boyfriend, by the way,” Uncle admits.

_Dammit! I forgot to talk to Ethan about how our relationship should be addressed._

My jaw clenches. “Uncle, he’s not my--”

“At first, when I saw him I was like, ‘Are we even in the right place?’” He continues with a deep chuckle. “He knew I was kidding with him. Nice fellow.” 

“Well, glad to see you still have your sense of humor.”

Aunt Nora comes to join us and gives me a hug. 

“I’m so sorry about your daddy, Zyra.”

“Thanks, Auntie.”

She gives me another hug and then turns to her husband.

“We should probably go now, Justice.” 

She takes his hand, holding it tightly, as they make their way through the doors and to the coffin. I see my uncle grip the side of the coffin with both hands and lean forward. It appears his legs are about to give out on him. Auntie wraps her arms around him, trying to keep him upright.

I have the urge to rush to him, to help. But it’s their moment. They need their own time to say their goodbyes, no matter how difficult it might be. My grandparents passed before I was even born. They were their only family, and now Uncle Justice has lost his brother, too. I couldn’t imagine being on this Earth knowing Mama, Elliot, and Jacob were all gone too. 

My fingers begin to twitch.

Thirty minutes go by and family friends and relatives have arrived, giving us their condolences and paying their respects to Papa. I’m now sitting with Ethan at the bench. Jacob is outside with our cousin, Artie, who’s a couple years older than him. The service should begin in about ten minutes, but I’m not ready to go back in there. I need this buffer.

“I just don’t understand.” I break the silence between us.

I look down at my hands that are resting on my thighs. I feel Ethan’s body turn towards me.

“What don’t you understand?”

I let out a sigh. “I don’t understand how he died. As doctors, death should make sense, but there was no indication of a clear cause of death on his autopsy report. He just died peacefully in his sleep.”

“Any inconclusive theories?”

“I spoke with the coroner who did the autopsy. She indicated it may have been related to his heart.”

“Sudden arrhythmic death syndrome?”

“That’s what I think, but we’ll never know for sure. And this uncertainty is...” I hear my voice crack, and I cannot complete my sentence.

From the corner of my eye, I see the fingers of Ethan’s hand begin to stretch towards me, but then fall back onto his lap.

“Zyra. Ethan.” I look up at Mama. Jacob is at her side. “We should get inside now.”

Mama insisted Ethan sit in the front row with us. This angel is family now, she had said.

The service goes on for about an hour. The coffin is now closed with a bouquet of lilies sitting on top. I had helped Mama pick them out. There’s also a poster-sized picture of Papa in a frame next to his coffin. It was taken during a summer barbeque one year. It was Mama’s favorite, so that was the one she decided to use. I made the order for her because looking through all the pictures was already difficult enough for her. 

In the picture, he has his New Orleans Saints cap on, an homage to being a Louisiana native. He’s also doing something that he never faltered at, smiling. Papa was so good at smiling. It didn’t matter what mood I was in. All he had to do was flash those sparkly whites and I knew everything would be all right. And that is what I’m currently trying to remind myself as I look at the picture. 

Mama gives the eulogy. It’s tone is both humorous and mournful. Everyone cracks up at her stories about his eating habits. Of course she had to include the specifics of how he would refuse to eat pizza because he couldn’t separate the ingredients. I even hear Ethan chuckle. But then she talks about the night she woke up and found Papa unresponsive. There is a unison in an outpouring of emotions, especially when Mama emphasizes what she had lost in that very moment. The way she describes the love she held for Papa brings a lot of tissues and handkerchiefs to the audience’s eyes. She describes him as her best friend, her confidant, her soulmate, her constant, and her _man_. That final one gets some laughs. She finally turns towards his picture, blows him a kiss, and simply says “goodbye” before she takes her seat. She kisses each of us, her children, before she sits back down. 

Throughout the entire eulogy, I keep my hands folded in my lap. I grip my manic one so that its uncontrollable shaking is not noticeable. But I feel the urge to reach out to the my right, hoping Ethan will accept my sudden need.

_My best friend. My confidant. My soulmate. My constant. My..._

Instead, I reach out to my left. My brother holds my hand.

Some songs are then sung, but I don’t sing along, only stand there quietly and listen. I don’t know the words to these church hymns. Neither does Ethan. But they are quite upbeat, more so than I’d expected. Elliot’s eyes are closed, as he sings each word with his soothing baritone voice. Mama raises her hands in the air during one of them, feeling God’s love, as the song describes. God is her comfort now. 

Then the pastor gives a short funeral sermon. Pastor Ross tells some story about the importance of faith and the power of God’s love. That doesn’t really comfort the atheist in me. But then he ends with a quote from Matthew something something:

_Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted._

I’m sure he’s referring to God being the one to provide that comfort. But all I can think of is my family, my friends, and the man sitting next to me. I accidentally brush my leg against his. That is something I can feel.

My brother and uncle then stand up, buttoning their jackets. Two of Papa’s male friends join them up front. Each man takes one corner of the coffin, lifts it, and begins carrying it down the center aisle. As the family, we follow behind first and watch as they put Papa into a hearse. 

Ethan drives behind the hearse, all the way to the cemetery where we have our final service. Anyone can go up and say a few words. I decide not to because I’ve already spoken to Papa directly. The pastor says his final blessings and we see the coffin being lowered to the ground. There’s a lot of sniffling, some noises from muffled sobs, and some wailing, but Mama is still, strong, and quiet. But behind her sunglasses, I am sure her eyes are puffy and red. Tear tracks edge out from underneath the rims. 

As I observe and listen to everyone’s mourning, I realize that I have yet to cry at Papa’s funeral. And I don’t know why. But this damn hand won’t stop shaking.

I’m now left alone, standing at the edge of the grave, looking down at the coffin. I’m not ready to leave him alone all that way below the ground. They won’t cover him until everyone has left. I’ve already given my thanks to Pastor Ross and gave and received enough hugs that’ll leave me numb to them in time. 

My hand feels better, but I keep it locked under my arm, against my side just in case. 

“Zyra? We should probably get going,” Ethan says from behind me. He then stops and stands at my side, looking down at what I see. A dark brown coffin covered in shadows.

“I was _so_ mad at you for coming here,” I whisper, my gaze still settled on Papa. “You had no right.”

Ethan doesn’t say anything, and I don’t even try to look at him for any nonverbal response. Those are words he probably wasn’t expecting at a time like this.

I continue.

“But standing here, staring down at my father…” I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m truly thankful that you’re here.”

_Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted._

“Truly.” 

I feel his hand hovering against the small of my back, but I never feel it make contact.

* * *

As Mama wanted, we are holding the reception at our house. The dining table is full of food, brought by our guests. There are even some of the casseroles, heated and placed on the table to add to the buffet. But I haven’t eaten. Neither has Mama. Everyone else has taken their liberties with the free food though.

Mama has retired to the backyard with Aunt Nora. Others are still inside sharing their stories about Papa, meeting guests they’ve never met before, and eating and drinking. My uncle continues teasing Ethan, and I save him when Laura arrives, introducing him to my second mother, my neighbor from across the street. Laura does her best to not embarrass me in front of him with her knowledge of my past devotion to Ethan’s career. And Ethan himself. But I can see the flicker of amusement in Ethan’s eyes as Laura tells her stories. 

I trust Laura with Ethan, so I tend to my family. 

I bring some drinks out to Mama and Auntie.

"I've been meaning to tell you, Zyra, I love what you've done with your hair," Auntie compliments.

I touch the corkscrew curls resting against on my shoulder. "Thanks, Auntie. Mama wanted to straighten it."

"Janet, leave this girl's hair alone. It's gorgeous," she teases.

Mama gives me a kiss and returns to her conversation with Auntie. It is quite upbeat by the time I leave them. Something about Artie, the photography club at his school, and some cute picture of a squirrel he took.

I then go to grab a plate of cookies for Jacob and Artie, who are sitting on the couch. Artie immediately begins digging into them, but Jacob just sits there with Thor clutched in one hand and an uneaten cookie in the other. Alfie snatches it from his hand, but Jacob punches him in the shoulder, taking it right back.

I then look around for Elliot. I see him standing on the stairs speaking to a man who looks familiar. I climb up towards them.

“Sorry to interrupt. Do you want something to eat or drink? I can fetch it for you.”

Although I’m asking both of them, I can’t help but look at this man. Elliot must realize my confusion because he finally introduces me.

“Zyra, this is David. David, my sis.”

My mouth opens wide and I take his hand into mine, holding it in a tight grip.

“David Takehashi? It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I didn’t know you had come.”

David squeezes my hand and gives me a warm smile. “I had to be here for Elliot. I was sitting in the back.”

“It was a surprise for me too,” Elliot explains. A unique smile shows up on his face. It lengthens when he looks at his boyfriend. 

“Anyway, I’m about to introduce David to Mama, so we’ll grab food on the way.” 

Elliot looks at me with a bit of fear. It’s the same look he had as a kid whenever he did something wrong and anticipated a scolding from Papa when he returned home from work. But I nod and smile at him with reassurance. 

I’m now left alone on the staircase. Jacob and Artie run past me up the stairs. I see them disappear into Jacob’s room. I scan the room below and realize how packed it actually is. I see people come and go from the kitchen as well. I even see people I’ve never met before. They weren’t at the funeral. I begin to feel a bit anxious and overwhelmed. I make a bee-line for the front door.

I take a seat on the stoop and stare out straight ahead, the sky now turning dark. There’s a sudden chill in the evening air that my sheer-laced shoulders feel with ease. My hand has returned to shaking, and I place both under my thighs, sitting on them.

I hear the door open and close behind me. 

“The sky is beautiful here,” Ethan says.

I see his feet next to me.

“Yeah. I miss it sometimes.”

I hear some kind of ruffle and then feel his jacket wrapping itself around my shoulders.

“The coldness is a bit more dry here,” he continues. 

He then sits beside me. Both of his legs reach the very bottom of the stoop. I have the urge to reject his kind gesture, wanting to give his jacket back. But I pull the jacket further across my shoulders instead.

“When’s your flight?” I try to make small talk. 

“Tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“9 am.”

“Hotel?”

“Le Meridien.”

I look at his rental car parked out front. It’s the only one I can truly see among the many lining the streets because of our reception. I wish I could see the sun beam down and reflect on it one last time.

He’ll be gone soon, but it’s what I had wanted, what I had asked of him. But now I don’t want him to leave. I selfishly want him to stay. For me. I’ve been hesitant to reach out to him, to accept anything he’s been trying to offer me because of my skepticism and fear. But right now, I don’t even care about the past. I don’t even know what will happen between us after today. But at this very moment, I just want to be taken care of by him. 

I hesitantly place my hand on top of his. It’s still trembling but only slightly. My fingers caress the valleys between his knuckles, until they slide between his fingers and I feel them lock with mine. He rests his other hand on top, sandwiching it between both of his. He probably feels the uncontrollable movement in my hand, helping guide it back to sleep.

I lean my head against his shoulder. I nuzzle against it until I find a comfortable spot. Those firm lips press tenderly against my forehead. 

“I’m here,” he confesses. His breath warm against my skin.

“I know.”

And for the first time since he’s arrived, I accept his comfort.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snuck in a reference to the model David Gandy in here because Ethan looks like David Gandy. But I believe Pixelberry did use Gandy as a reference because I found the image that may have been the one they used. The hair is EXACTLY the same (and other features like the eyes, rosy cheekbones, lips, and facial hair). I see you, PB. I see you. 😂


	7. The Funeral (WITHHOLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the day of the funeral without Ethan.

There’s a gentle pat against my calf. I feel my leg hanging over the edge of my twin-sized, childhood bed. I’ve become used to my queen back in Boston. So as the patting continues, the lower half of my leg just hovers in mid-air, making it an easy target.

I hear my name being called in unison with the continued patting. I draw my leg back under the covers.

“Stop,” I sleepily say.

“Don’t speak that way to me.” Mama slaps my butt. Thankfully, the thick comforter provides some cushion. “Get up,” she demands. 

I spring up and see Mama standing at the foot of my bed.

“Good. You can use my bathroom to get ready.”

Mama is already fully dressed. How long has she been up?

When she leaves, I notice my phone near my pillow. That’s right. I had been texting him all night. We were keeping each other company because we couldn’t sleep. But my phone is dead. I must have fallen asleep mid text. 

I plug it in to charge it. The screen lights up and immediately turns on. I see that the time is 7:24 am. I scroll through the texts from last night. My last one was at 3:03 am. I’ve gotten about four hours of sleep. 

I scroll back up through our conversation, remembering what we had talked about. I was surprised that Rafael had even texted me back. He couldn’t sleep because his suspension weighed on his mind. I couldn’t sleep because of, well, the funeral.

**RA: Just have TV on. Watching Game of Thrones.**

**ZL: OH! It’s great until…**

**RA: Don’t tell me anything!**

**ZL: 😇**

I smile at our GoT banter. He gives me commentary on the episode he’s watching, until the topic shifts to work. 

**ZL:** **Nothing yet?**

**RA: Nope**

**ZL: I hope soon**

**RA: If Edenbrook goes under, what’s the point?**

**ZL: Raf… don’t think like that.**

**RA: What will u do?**

**ZL: ??**

**RA: If it all goes under**

**ZL: Don’t know.**

And I honestly don’t know what I would do without Edenbrook, my cohort, the diagnostics team, and my… my mentor. It’s not something I can fathom, but then again, I did just lose my father. And here I am about to attend his funeral. I couldn’t have ever fathomed this day. 

Then I try to change the subject.

**ZL: How’s Sora?**

**RA: Good**

**ZL: You enjoying that she’s there?**

**RA: Yeah. She likes bicycling in the park. But it’s too cold now.**

**ZL: 🤣 Poor Raf will need saving from hypothermia**

**RA: ha u offering?**

**ZL: Sure. Give me time and place**

**RA: tomorrow morning bike path near frog pond**

**ZL: I’m sure Sora’s got you 😉**

**RA: she does**

**ZL: Been to the gym lately?**

**RA: Bryce got me in a few days ago. Suspension and all.**

**ZL: That’s good.**

I remember pausing here before I typed my next text.

**ZL: Was Ethan there?**

**RA: Yeah. Seemed really focused.**

**ZL: Isn’t he always?**

**RA: Yeah but like he looked troubled. Maybe the hospital stuff is on his mind.**

**ZL: Yeah**

**RA: U ready for tomorrow?**

**ZL: I don’t know how to answer that.**

**RA: Sorry**

**ZL: Don’t be.**

**RA: When do u get back?**

**ZL: Monday afternoon. Back to work Tuesday.**

**RA: We miss u**

**ZL: I miss you too, all of you**

Reading back through the texts, I guess we came together at the right time. Talking to him last night helped distract me from today. But I go back to reread the part about Ethan. First Sienna told me he was annoyed by Zaid’s question about me, that he kept checking his phone at Donahue’s, and now he seems upset, trying to exercise through it. These pieces of information go through my mind like trying to solve a mysterious diagnosis. I can’t help but wonder if part of it has to do with me. Perhaps the diagnosis is heartbreak.

_Not everything is about you, Zyra._

True. Just because I’m heartbroken, doesn’t mean he is. He hasn’t even reached out to me, as usual. I’m probably just projecting my own feelings and expectations onto him. I should know better by now. I should. 

I scroll through the rest of the texts and see Rafael’s final one. 

**RA: You must have fallen asleep. Thanks for keeping me company. Take care tomorrow.**

I text back a reply.

**ZL: I did. So sorry! And thank you too. It was nice.**

“Zyra!” I look up shocked by the booming and strict voice, seeing my mama standing in my doorway, her hands on her hips. “You’re almost 30. Get your act together and get ready. I’m not going to tell you again.”

I see Jacob run past behind her in his suit.

“Sorry, Mama,” I apologize. 

Mama turns away from me and begins to follow and yell after Jacob.

“Don’t be running. I don’t need you having an accident out of all days.”

I place my phone on my nightstand to let it finish charging. I close my eyes and take a deep breath that feels heavy in my lungs, realizing that I have been only stalling the inevitable. 

I begin getting ready. I take up Mama’s offer and shower and prepare in her bathroom. She’s downstairs with Jacob. I hear the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. Elliot is getting ready himself.

After showering I head to my room to change. I hear a ping and see a notification on my phone. It’s a new text from Sienna. It’s only a string of hearts. I reply that I will text her tonight after it’s all over. 

But still nothing from Ethan. Not one word. 

I don’t realize how hard I’m holding my phone in my hand until the pressure accidentally turns the screen off from squeezing the side button so hard. 

_I need to stop focusing on this need for him. Whatever there was between us, it’s done. I made sure of that._

I slip on my dress, the sheer material at my shoulders itch a little. I roll my shoulders, then rub them. That helps. After putting on the finishing touches, a belt and a pair of one-inch black heels, I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom. 

I nearly gasp at what I see. 

I couldn’t have lost that much weight, could I? It’s only been a week. But there I am, the seams of my dress no longer line snuggly along my curves. They are a bit loose and leave some fabric to bulge around the belt. Even my cheeks look a bit more sunken, my face a tad thinner. The soft roundness of my cheeks are no longer, but straight and hard. Even my arms have begun looking like their muscle tone is deteriorating. I can only describe what I see as chicken legs coming out from under the hem of my dress. 

I think back to this past week. The stress. The constant work to help out Mama and Jacob. The lack of proper eating. It’s amazing what can happen in such a short amount of time due to tragedy. And I am seeing the effects on my body. 

I then unwrap the scarf from around my hair, allowing my straightened locks to fall against my shoulders, and now past them. Without the curls and the kinkiness, I can truly see the full length of my hair. But the straighter hairdo only enhances my now skinnier frame. My luscious curls of hair and body curves have been replaced with straight lines that no longer resemble the person I was before I came here.

_Who are you?_

I take a brush to complete my preparedness, but stuck between the bristles is a clump of long strands. 

_Is my hair falling out too?_

I feel around my scalp and feel a small bald spot near the nape of my neck. I can only stare at the lost hair in my brush in horror, my fingertips rubbing hard against the smooth bald spot as if trying to erase it and magically bring my hair back.

I search desperately for Elliot. Panic has now overtaken me. But he’s nowhere upstairs. I then hear voices coming from the kitchen. Not only can I hear Mama’s voice, I hear new ones, ones I’ve usually only heard over the phone.

_Uncle and Auntie are here?_

To try to abstain from anymore of Mama’s wrath this morning, I decide to go down. But before I do, I say a short mantra until I feel myself relax. 

“Everything will be OK. Everything will be OK.”

I take a slow pace down the steps while gripping the banister, make my way across the living room, and finally enter the kitchen.

“Hey, baby girl,” Uncle Justice greets me and wraps me in a big hug.

My Aunt Nora does the same. 

“Look at you. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” Auntie says.

“And a doctor at that,” Uncle adds.

I give a small smile to them both, trying to hide the insecurities I uncovered just a little while ago. 

Uncle and Auntie had arrived from Louisiana early this morning and came directly here. I think Mama wanted them here as quickly as possible for their support. She and Auntie are quite close, so I think Mama wanted her around. Mama’s only family is her own mother. But because of some health problems, she couldn’t come down for the funeral.

I see Artie, my cousin, eating cereal with Jacob at the table. I give him a hug and then let him continue eating. Jacob is quiet as usual, even after his outpour of emotions from last night. His Thor and Captain America figures are sitting on the table next to his cereal bowl. The only sound from him is the crunching of the Cheerios between his teeth, while Artie is going on about a Black Panther comic he recently read. I don’t believe any of it is registering with Jacob, as he just stares blankly into his bowl. Elliot is next to him, his arm draped across the back of our baby brother’s chair, a mug of coffee gripped in his other hand. 

With them sitting next to each other in their similar black suits with basic black ties and the short Afros with the fades, one could never doubt they were brothers. And if Jacob were taller, they could even be mistaken for twins. The only true difference is that Elliot wears a diamond stud in his left ear with a small silver loop encircling the cartilage at the top. Mama never liked Elliot’s earrings. She always blamed his move to the more progressive Seattle for his change in appearance and for other things. 

I go to pour myself a cup of coffee. Mama and Auntie continue a conversation about the food for the reception. Mama thinks the table should be moved more towards the center of the kitchen for easier access. 

“We’ll get our strong men here to move it.” Auntie looks at both Uncle and Elliot. 

“What about me?” Artie asks with a full mouth of cereal.

“Baby, no talking with your mouth full. And we’ll find something you can do to help. Don’t worry,” Auntie replies.

“Yes. Everyone will be put to work,” Mama adds.

Uncle gets up from his seat, setting his empty coffee mug on the table. “I’ll go bring in our luggage,” Uncle says to Auntie before he leaves. 

“Do you need some help?” I offer.

“Oh, baby girl, I got this.”

Uncle and Auntie rented a minivan, so all of us could go together to the service. We leave after Uncle gets the bags and Mama gets them settled into the den. 

There are a few cars when we arrive at the church. We ensured to get there 30 minutes before the service started so that we had a chance with Papa alone. Mama also had some questions for Pastor Ross. 

When we enter, the double doors to the worship area are open, and I can see Papa’s casket already on display. It’s brown with an ivory interior. Papa’s head is resting against the pillow top. He doesn’t look dead. He looks like he’s just sleeping. Is that how he looked when he passed away, sleeping and never realizing that he was never to wake up? 

Around him are an array of funeral bouquets with flowers giving a white and purple color scheme. His photo is propped up on an easel to the left of the coffin. He’s wearing his usual black New Orleans Saints cap, one he was usually not seen without. It’s something I thought he would be buried with, but I think Mama can’t ever let that go. 

Uncle urges us to go first, and so we do. He, Aunt Nora, and Artie remain in the lobby, where Pastor Ross offers his condolences and some small talk. 

Mama grips both my and Elliot’s hands as we take a walk that seems like the length of a New York City marathon. 26.2 miles. Time slowly passes as we approach the casket, my focus more on Mama than Papa, hoping that her strength doesn’t give out along the way. Jacob is near my side, not willing to hold on to my hand that I reach out to him. Instead, he just clings to his Thor action figure. 

Each of us has shades on, hiding our pain behind the dark, tinted lenses. But then we stop. I turn to face Mama, watching her and ready to do what I must in case she needs me. I see her jaw tremble, her biting her lower lip, until she finally leans over and gives Papa a kiss on his forehead. Her hand rests on top of his, which are folded against his stomach. He looks peaceful, but he physically looks less like Papa and more like some clay sculpture that a graduate student completed as a masters project by giving his features a more abstract feel than a natural one, as if the student was trying to make some point about how creativity shouldn’t be objective, but should focus more on feelings of inauthenticity and independence. But by doing so, Papa’s uniqueness has been erased for the sake of art. 

_Ethan would be appalled._

I wonder if morticians see dead bodies as an artistic medium. They can embalm and apply make-up, but in the end, there’s an essence of my papa that is no longer there. Perhaps it left with him when he passed. 

Mama reaches into her purse and pulls out the Ziploc bag with the broken pieces of the vase. The one I broke. The one that was so important to them. The one that symbolized their love and marriage. 

I can’t help but feel an uneasy tightness in my chest when I see her pull it out. I also think she’s going to whisper to him, telling him what his dumbass daughter did. I know she forgave me, but I still can’t help shake the guilt. 

She tucks the bag against his side, nearly hidden between him and the lining of the casket. Her hand lingers as she gives him a final look, one of a goodbye. She then turns and walks away, holding her hand out to Jacob. He just stands there, looking up at the casket. 

“Do you want to see Papa, buddy?” I ask him. 

He just shakes his head. I know he can see Papa’s face, propped up high above the opening, and for him, that is probably enough. He reaches his hand above the rim of the casket and drops his Thor in. He then takes off, running down the aisle past Mama and out the door. I see Uncle stop him, kneel down, and embrace his nephew who stays still in his arms. Jacob’s shoulders shudder against my uncle’s embrace, his face hidden against Uncle’s chest. Mama rushes to her baby boy. 

Elliot and I continue standing by the casket, watching the events unfurl. Elliot then turns back around and repositions Jacob’s Thor in the casket. 

“There?” he asks me.

I look at the figure.

“The breast pocket,” I say.

Elliot tucks the action figure inside and neatly against the white, decorative handkerchief. Thor’s head and shoulders are all that are in view, and he will be alongside Papa to wherever he may journey next. 

I feel my brother take my hand and grip it tightly. It becomes so tight that it feels as if the bones in my hand are about to crack. I then see tears begin to stream down from below the rims of his sunglasses. 

He releases my hand, straightens Thor one more time, and heartbreakingly whispers, “Love ya, Pops.” The vowel sound in _Pops_ breaks in Elliot’s voice. I see him swallow hard, making his Adam’s apple quiver. He raises his shades and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Once his shades are lowered to cover his tear-filled, red eyes, he places a hand on my shoulder, continues looking down at Papa, and then leaves without a word. As he walks away, I see him take out a pack of cigarettes and head outside. 

_Here we are._

I take off my shades to meet Papa directly. I see his tie crooked and adjust it. I run a hand over his jacket, smoothing down any excess folds and wrinkles. 

“There. You look sharp.”

I place my hand on his, my fingertips curl into the curve between his thumb and index finger. He’s hard and stiff, but a part of me hopes I feel his hand respond to mine. It never does. 

I stand there, my thumb caressing along the tip of his index finger. My eyes study his sleeping expression. The way his lips are drawn together in a serious line, which contradicts the man smiling in the picture. The way his eyelids are closed, sealing his soul behind them and knowing I will never be able to see those chestnut eyes look at me ever again. I study the way his beard follows the lines of his always chubby cheeks but strong jawline. I begin to count each grey hair.

I feel my eyes sting with the urge to release tears. But each tear begins to slowly take turns falling when I see an edge of purple glass peeking out from his side.

“You know, I’m sorry about that.” I press my lips together, feeling tears roll across them and down my chin. “I can understand if you’re angry with me too. This wasn’t how I wished I had left things, leaving more broken pieces in Mama’s life.”

I can now taste the salt of my own tears as I speak.

“I know how much that vase meant to you and the tradition behind it. It’s something I’ve always admired about you and mom. Your love for each other. But I don’t think love is in the cards for me any time soon.”

_…Ethan._

I feel a hand on my back. It’s Uncle and Auntie. I turn around, my arms around them both, and I cry onto their shoulders. 

I don’t head out. I just take a seat at the front pew where our family will be sitting for the service. The hardness of the wood against my back, it’s coldness against my exposed thighs, don’t even register. I feel as if I am sitting in a state of disbelief, where it has all finally hit me. I am here. Papa is over there. Dead. Uncle and Auntie are now crying over him. I hear Mama outside speaking to guests, in her calm voice. 

I should be able to feel the thundering in my heart as it pounds itself against my chest. I don’t. 

I should be able to feel the burning in my lungs while trying to breathe. I don’t. 

I should be able to feel the goosebumps that have appeared along my arms. I don’t. 

I should be able to feel the tightness around my eyes, as they try to hold back my tears. I don’t. 

I wipe at my cheek. I should feel the fallen tears as their wetness marks the back of my hand. I don’t. 

I am completely numb. Has every ounce of my emotions completely vacated this now scrawny vessel?

_I’m here._

I hear the words I had often told him when I wanted him to know I supported him and gave a damn about him, but this time it’s in his voice. 

Subconsciously, I reach to my side to grab his hand, but then I remember that he’s not here. I probably just did it out of habit since we’ve been through so much shit together. It felt natural to believe he would be right there by my side. But not this time. 

I should feel my heart breaking, my guilt take over, my feeling of loss and loneliness consume my soul. I don’t. 

_What is wrong with me?_

The pastor closes the casket, Papa forever gone to me now. 

I should want to scream “I’m not ready” and beg the pastor to keep it open a little while longer through painful sobs. I don’t. 

I sit there until the service begins. People file in. Some come to greet me. I go through the motions, stand up, hug them, thank them for their condolences, and sit back down. It becomes an endless, repetitive sequence of actions. It’s like hitting the replay button on a video, but usually you would do that because you want to see it again. Maybe the video makes you laugh. Maybe it resonates with you in an emotional way. But this just makes me feel none of that. I’m like some robot programmed for this very act, whose emotions have not been uploaded. Stand. Hug. Thank. Sit. Repeat. 

I don’t know what happens during the service. Either I have spaced out or my mind is still stuck in this realm of disbelief that is trying to protect me from my feelings. I hear laughter at times during Mama’s eulogy, and crying. The singing is muted in the background. Elliot and Mama’s mouths are moving, but I cannot hear what is coming out of them. I see the piano player, her hands sliding along the keys with ease, but I don’t hear the chords or the melody. When Pastor Ross begins to talk, his voice is nothing but wah wahs, incomprehensible like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Then Elliot, Uncle, and Papa’s two friends carry the casket away. I had forgotten they were the pallbearers. 

Mama rubs my shoulder, and I stand up following her, Jacob, Auntie, and Artie out. Her arm is wrapped around my waist as we walk, and my arm follows suit around her waist. We walk out to the lobby, our arms still around each other, but when we stop and see the hearse, we never drop them. We hold on to each other as if we are both waiting for the other to cave at the sight. I do feel Mama weaken against my arm, her knees slightly bend, but she remains balanced and upright. 

The hearse is parked right out front, the back opened and right outside the church doors. We stand in the lobby, watching them put the casket into the back of the hearse. 

It isn’t long before we are all back in the minivan. Uncle and Elliot finally join us, but the inside of the car is still and silent. I can’t even hear the sounds of my family breathing. Uncle hasn’t even turned it on yet. But he does once he sees the hearse begin to pull out.

I should feel anxious about going to the cemetery and seeing Papa being lowered into the ground. I don’t. 

I just watch cars pull over to the side of the road to allow our funeral procession to pass. 

I should feel thankful for the kindness and respect. I don’t. 

Clouds begin to settle above in the sky, blocking the sun from carrying its warmth and hope down to us. Even if it was there, I doubt it would have made any difference. There is no hope on this dreary day. Where is hope in death? Hope in the death of family? Hope in the death of a parent?

I wait until the final ceremony and blessings are done, again not truly listening to what is being said. Mama wants me to say a quick word before they lower Papa into his grave, which is just a hole in the ground where he will only decompose and be eaten by maggots and worms and ants and any other insects that think my papa will meet their diets.

I take a few steps forward, slowly turning to face the crowd of mostly family friends. My shades are still on, hiding my truth.

“Thank you all for coming. Papa would have been grateful to have you all here. We are all grateful,” I state mechanically.

It’s all I can muster to say before I go back to stand with my family and listen to Pastor Ross’ final blessing. Then they lower Papa into the ground.

I should feel the loss. I don’t. 

The reception isn’t any different. Lots of hugs. Condolences. Guests eating food. Drinking. Guests asking me questions or commenting on my accomplishments. 

“Your dad would be so proud,” they say.

_He already was._

“You have grown up into such a beautiful woman,” they compliment.

_You’re only seeing the shell of me._

“Where’s your boyfriend? Are you seeing anyone?” they ask. 

_Nonexistent and no._

“Let me know if you need anything,” they offer. 

_Mama needs more than I do._

It all seems empty and rehearsed. I fake a smile, nod to show appreciation and that I’m listening, and hug back when they offer the gesture. 

I make my rounds and see Jacob sitting outside with Mama and Auntie. She’s letting him watch something on her smartphone. Artie is sitting beside him, watching with him, but he seems more into the show than Jacob. Artie smiles and points to the screen, clearly commenting on what is going on. But Jacob has no response, not even a nonverbal one. It’s the same as this morning with him staring down into his bowl of cereal, but not truly seeing it. 

Mama and Auntie have small smiles on their faces. Perhaps they’re reminiscing. Perhaps they’re talking about Jacob and Artie. Perhaps they’re talking about me and Elliot. Perhaps they’re making fun of some of the guests.

I leave the kitchen and away from the glass sliding door that has allowed me to see them sitting outside. I go into the living room. Elliot is speaking with one of Papa’s friends, Mr. Hensley. They seem to be exchanging fond memories. I then look around and see more people talking, smiling, laughing. Are they all thinking fondly of Papa? Why is no one more sad or upset? 

I can’t deal with this weird, unsettling environment. I grab Mama’s keys and go outside to sit inside her car, which is parked in the driveway. Through the rearview mirror, I then see Laura coming out of her house, making her way across the street to pay her respects to our family. But I slide down in the seat and hold my breath in hopes that she doesn’t see me as she walks by. She doesn’t. 

I recline the seat back and just lay there staring up at the ceiling. I reach above to open the sunroof and view the overcast sky. I stare long and deep, observing the clouds’ slow movement across the sky and framed within the edges of the sunroof. It’s like watching a moving painting on display. 

My phone vibrates and I see that I have some messages. Some are ones I have missed throughout the day. But I also have some emails from work.

I quickly scroll through the emails first, scanning for a specific name that never appears. But I come across Dr. Banerji’s last email. I should probably confirm with him that I will be returning on Tuesday. I email him a quick update and then turn to my texts.

There’s a single one from Sienna:

**ST: Thinking of you today. ❤️**

Bryce:

**BL: We’re with you in spirit.**

Jackie:

**JV: Take care today.**

Elijah:

**EG: Love you 3000.**

Aurora: 

**AE: You and your family, please take care.**

Even Ines. She must have learned about the funeral day from someone. Probably Sienna. 

**ID: From me and Zaid, we are sending our love and prayers to you and your family today.**

And Rafael:

**RA: I wish I could be there for you today.**

I wish you all could have been. 

I should feel angry, guilty, confused, and utterly devastated. 

I should feel all of the losses accumulating and hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking all of the wind out of me. 

I should feel the need to hurl my phone against the dashboard and scream wildly until my voice shatters and tears flow down my cheeks like an unwavering waterfall.

And I do.


	8. Ethan's Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra isn’t the only one whose choices will affect the outcome of her and Ethan’s relationship. Ethan also has to make his own decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Ethan's perspective.

My fingers still against the trackpad of my laptop. The cursor on the screen hovers over a blue, rectangular button. A single word in white sits in the middle, giving an obvious contrast for readability. 

_Purchase_

My eyes return to the first letter after they reach the last one, never stopping to move anywhere else on the page. Eight simple letters are strung together to give a simple meaning that never held much prior importance. But as I sit here, I can only associate this word with one thing: my agony. This agony has felt like stones settling in the pit of my stomach. If I casted myself into the bay right now, they’d weigh my body down as I drowned and disappeared into the cold, dark, solitary depths of the unforgiving waters.

This single word repeats in my head like a nagging question that refuses to let me sleep and keeps me up late into the night. Only a half bottle of scotch could help alleviate the endless drumming of the thought in my mind. But lately, not even my own vice can help with my vulnerability composed of mostly fear and regret. 

But this damn word continues to infest me like a parasite. This damn eight-letter word of pure hell.

_Purchase_

A round trip flight to Denver, Colorado. A rental car to drive to Lakewood, Colorado. About a 30 to 40 minute drive from Denver. A hotel reservation for Le Meridien for two nights. 

_You’re a fucking coward, Ethan._

* * *

_**CALL** _

$300.

I toss the parking ticket into the glove compartment. 

I place a hand on the steering wheel, while my other rests on my thigh, holding my keys. My hazards are still on, flashing. Even those don’t seem to be strong enough to take my mind off her and force me to leave from my illegal parking space out front of the Delta drop off. 

All that lingers heavily in my mind is her pained expression. Those flecks of gold that swim within the chocolate of her irises flicker with life whenever she beams with happiness, excitement, and even satisfaction, turning her gaze into a sweet honey hue. They also crackle like fireworks when aroused and angry, like this morning. But they were snuffed out tonight, leaving only a darkened, monochromatic brown of an abyss. When searching her eyes, there was nothing there for me to hold on to. Nothing that identified her as the woman I know as Zyra Lewis. 

The woman that I…

If only I could have somehow taken away her pain through osmosis while holding her. Or have had it seep through my fingertips when I caressed her cheek or placed my hand over hers. But that’s not how osmosis works in humans. Being around her makes me think illogically, even more sentimentally, which goes against everything I believe in. 

Yet here I am, still sitting in my illegally parked car as my only thoughts collect around her. There’s a subtle ache in my chest that feels like a pinching of my muscles. I rub my hand over the area, trying to help alleviate this tension. 

_Tap Tap Tap_

I jump in my seat, feeling my heart slam forward against my chest cavity. My fingers claw into my shirt, as if trying to catch my heart into the palm of my hand like a baseball into a glove. I glance over to the passenger side window and see that same airport security officer. The one who obviously left me that parking ticket. 

He’s glaring at me. His mouth is turned downward and then opens into an exaggerated “O,” clearly uttering a muffled “Go”. His finger points towards the direction of the exit. He points so forcefully that it appears his arm will detach from its socket. I roll my eyes, hold a hand up at him, and put my keys into the ignition. After he takes a step back away from my car, I notice the smudges from his fingers left behind on my window. I punch the hazard lights button and return his glare with narrowed eyes before I pull out and finally drive away. 

As I begin my exit from the terminal, I picture Zyra sitting alone at her gate as she waits for her flight with only the thoughts of her father to keep her company. Her hands are probably empty because she doesn’t have the thirst for a coffee nor the hunger to pick up a sandwich or her favorite Geysers fruit snacks to munch on nor the focus to read a book or a magazine, let alone a medical journal. I begin to picture myself sitting in the seat beside her, my arm draped across her shoulders as she leans into me for comfort. She would also have something to hold: my hand. And I would give her my hand and my comfort and anything else she needed without a second thought, while ignoring everything that was said between us in my office and ignoring all my rules that have kept me from keeping her close. 

A sign approaches, which gives further directions. I could go left towards the freeway or I could go right to loop back around or head to the parking garage. My mind settles on the image of Zyra with that empty seat next to her and I turn my wheel to the right. 

I find a place to park in the parking garage. In order to pass security, I will need to buy a ticket for the same flight. If the flight is booked, I’ll buy a ticket to who-really-cares where and find her gate information on the screens inside. After formulating my plan, I exit and lock my car. While approaching the elevator, I feel my phone vibrating in my back pocket.

It’s Naveen calling. 

I stop on the curb right out front of the elevators. One opens with a young couple exiting. Their arms are around each other’s waists, smiling and laughing about possibly some experience one of them is relaying to the other. Perhaps they were parted for a while and they are trying to now make up for the time. Their smiles and laughter cease as they approach my direction. The man holds the woman closer, their pace quickening until they disappear behind the rows of parked cars.

Were they afraid of me? Perhaps if I wasn’t staring at them with a scowl due to my own frustrations. And I won’t dare admit that perhaps a bit of envy was thrown in there. 

I can still feel the vibration in my hand. Remembering Naveen, I answer. 

“I need to speak with you about your email regarding Zyra. Are you still in the hospital somewhere?” He asks.

“Not at the moment.” I glance at the elevator and then turn to look back at my car. “But I was returning now.” 

I run a hand through my hair and close my eyes as Naveen continues talking. I pull my keys out from my pocket and begin the walk away from the elevators. Away from the airport entrance. Away from Zyra.

Once our conversation ends, I’m already back inside, the engine on and ready to go. That pinching in my chest returns as I can’t help but feel I am leaving her behind all alone.

* * *

I’m sitting across from Naveen at his desk, observing how his face falls, how he stares out into the distance as his mind must be on the news about the woman who saved his life last year. 

“Poor Zyra,” Naveen says.

From either fatigue or sorrow, he lifts his glasses to rub his eyes with the combination of his thumb and middle finger before putting them back into place and meeting my gaze. His chest heaves with a deep sigh before he speaks again. 

“How long does she predict she will be away?” He asks, his worried gaze still on me.

“She mentioned a week, but it could be longer,” I reply and bite the inside of my lip. “I’m sure she’ll contact me again. I’ll keep you updated.”

Naveen slowly nods. Our conversation moves into how to manage the situation and I assure him that I will take care of it all: reorganizing the team’s schedule and assignments, speaking with Mirani in regards to her residency requirements, helping with reassigning her patients. I’ll even take on some of her patients if need be. 

But as we talk, I notice the way Naveen is looking at me. It’s not a look relegated to a boss or mentor, but to one of a father-figure. He’s grown concerned. Then he asks an unexpected question.

“Are you doing alright, Ethan?”

I give him a bewildered look, but I feel my entire body tense at the question.

I clear my throat. “Yes. I have a late night ahead of me. You should get home.” I begin to stand.

“Ethan,” he sighs, “I know how important she is to you.”

“She’s my resident, Naveen.” There’s a hint of annoyance in my tone. But that only shows that he’s struck a nerve that I’ve been trying to keep private.

I know where he’s going with this. He’s always assumed Zyra and my closeness was more than just mentor and mentee. But I have never given him any reason to confirm his suspicions, especially since he was the one who put her on my team as a junior fellow, creating even a more complicated barrier against whatever these feelings are for her. Now I’m not only her attending and mentor, I’m also her boss, and part of me resents Naveen for putting me in this position. It’s one of the reasons why I fled to help out with the epidemic in the Amazon. I needed time away from her, away from my feelings, so that I could return and be distant enough from them to continue being the mentor she needed, uninhibited by these romantic entanglements that crept up on us last year. But there’s a part of me that still wants her to the point of distraction. And right now, all I want to do is take care of her and be there for her like she has always done for me even when all I did was try to push her away. But that’s not something I want Naveen, my own mentor, to ever know.

He’s studying me now, searching my stoic expression for even the tiniest of cracks. I have to remind myself that he is a diagnostician like myself. I trained under him, and I still have something to learn from him every day. But a diagnostician is keen on observation. As he quietly takes me in, I know he is formulating a mental diagnosis of some kind.

He clasps his hands on the top of his desk and leans forward. 

“If you need to take a couple of days off for any specific reason,” he finally speaks, “I will manage the team in your stead.” 

I feel as if his words are like a strong wind trying to lay me flat, but I maintain my posture. “I have no reason for taking any leave.”

“I’m only throwing it out there.” He smiles warmly.

“I’ll keep you updated on Lewis,” I state, ignoring his offer.

* * *

A couple of days later, I’m completing some discharge papers at a nurses’ station. It is for one of Zyra’s patients, a Mrs. Holloway whose symptoms I have diagnosed as being cellulitis. I have prescribed her some antibiotics and am adding a prescription with her discharge papers. But as I complete adding my signature to the prescription form, Trinh’s distinct bubblegum voice reaches my ears. My hearing immediately catches on to her words when I hear her reference Zyra’s name. I can see her from the side. She’s speaking to one of the nurses, Danny.

“The funeral’s on Saturday. She’s having a hard time, but she says she’s trying to be the strong one for her family right now.”

Danny doesn’t respond. Perhaps he’s responding nonverbally.

“Yeah,” Trinh continues, “she also said her mom kinda lost it at the memorial service. Like a full on breakdown. She’s worried about the actual day of the funeral. About her mom, really.”

Zyra is always the one to put others’ needs before herself. This makes me begin to worry about her own mental and physical health, which has more of a likelihood of deteriorating with the loss of a family member. I then remember how poorly I handled Naveen’s news and my lack of being able to diagnose him, knowing he was going to die. If it wasn’t for Zyra, I would have lost my family. And I don’t know if I would even still be practicing medicine.

I spend the rest of the day pondering Trinh’s words. She is Zyra’s best friend after all. She and Greene are the only two who know there is–was–something between myself and Zyra. They unfortunately caught me leaving that very morning after spending the night. It was the very last time we were together, right after she won her hearing. The happiness I felt during that night with her has stayed with me ever since. I’ve tried to dismiss it as being in the moment. But deciding not to leave that night and to stay sleeping beside her makes me reevaluate my excuse. I didn’t want to leave her even if there was a chance of being caught by her roommates. I didn’t want to leave that feeling of blissful peace that I haven’t felt in… My brain runs through my memories but it can’t seem to locate a source of evidence that even comes close to how I felt that very night with her. 

This is what that woman does to me. She makes me feel something new, and my mind can’t seem to associate it with any previous experiences. My rational mind can’t seem to even categorize these feelings in order to make sense to them. And this is an added source to my conflict. Everything has to make sense. _Everything._ But with Zyra, sometimes I feel I struggle to find any logical explanation to how she makes me feel. I don’t know what this brilliant, beautiful, admirable, compassionate, strong-willed, stubborn woman is doing to me, but dammit, I long to be with her right now and support her like she supported me through Dolores and Naveen. 

It’s the evening, and I’m currently staring at the screen of my laptop. It’s sitting on the kitchen counter as I wait for my marinated flank steak to finish grilling. I hold a glass of scotch in one hand as my other lingers over the trackpad of my laptop. 

_If you need to take a couple of days off for any specific reason…_

I can’t blame Naveen for diagnosing me correctly. Even he could see how I ached to go to her in her time of need.

I’ve already filled out all of the information in order to reserve my plane ticket, hotel room, and rental car. I just need to click the button. I should text her first–I despise texting–but I don’t want to take the chance of her telling me not to come. Zyra and I have been through some heated arguments before, but we have always managed to find a way to make it right between us. Because if anything, there’s a deep trust that we share and I would be damned if we lose that. She wouldn’t have reached out to me if she didn’t truly trust me still. But I hope that this feeling of her needing me isn’t some egregious mistake of overstepping on my part. And after what happened between us, I hope I’ve not misread her.

But I won’t be a coward this time. 

I gulp down the rest of my scotch and click “purchase”. But then I smell my steak burning.

* * *

_**WITHHOLD** _

It’s been challenging to focus all day, especially since after our heated argument, I haven’t seen her for the rest of the day. It’s already well past 9 pm. Because there were no new updates on our patients and no new incoming patients, I had no reason to page my team. And that meant I had no opportunity to see or interact with Zyra. But she usually comes in and works on some cases on the whiteboard. She didn’t come back into the office today.

It took me a couple of hours to finally calm down. A couple of hours worth of paperwork. I’ve always been capable of separating my professional and personal feelings at work. When I was with Harper, I didn’t find it much of a challenge because we were usually always on the same page about keeping our personal life private. And that included waiting until after work hours to discuss personal matters and act on our more intimate feelings for one another. Even when we were at head with each other, we didn’t use patient time to try to solve our personal issues. We saved that for over drinks or between the sheets. 

But Harper is a surgeon. And that meant we didn’t really work together as often. It was easier to not let my emotions for her distract me because she wasn’t around. I may have called her in for a surgical consultation on a patient, but we didn’t work closely together like I do with Zyra. Zyra was my intern and now my resident and junior fellow on my team. I have no choice but to see her every single day. And that has become more of a challenge leading to an immense distraction on my part. 

Things were simpler and more practical with Harper. Until she officially became my boss as the Chief. And that is what I must do with Zyra as the Head of Diagnostics. I am her boss now, and I wish she would have understood why we can’t explore whatever feelings are between us. 

Everything she said to me from this morning runs through my mind. It pains me that she felt used and disposable. That was never my intention, but she doesn’t realize how much I too am angry and conflicted over our situation. She doesn’t realize the sacrifices that must be made to excel in this field. As a resident, she’s too young to understand this concept of sacrifice. I’ve lived it for almost a decade longer than she has. There are many things I may have missed out on in life, but I don’t regret my choices because I am where I want to be in my career. And I am damn good at what I do. I wish Zyra understood how I can see that same potential in her, how I am trying to bring it out of her by pushing her and challenging her every day. Being on my team during her residency–which is unheard of–is exactly the opportunity she needs to become the best diagnostician of her generation. I want that for her more than I want her for myself. That is the sacrifice I am willing to make if it means seeing her grow into her own doctor who continues fighting for our patients. 

Her potential and her fight are what attracted her to me most of all. Ever since she helped me get Barbara to take her medicine on her very first day at Edenbrook, I knew I would not regret my recommendation that placed her in the program. And seeing how just this year, she managed to diagnose the Governor’s son just by looking at him, her brilliance surpasses all of our current residents. First, second, and third years. Her being brilliant is an understatement, and it only excites these unexplained neurochemical responses between us.

But now we are here.

The glass door slides open, and I lift my head from some budgets that I have been staring at for the past 30 minutes. For a quick nanosecond, I hope it is Zyra. It’s Naveen. 

I take my glasses off as Naveen sits at one of the chairs directly in front of my desk.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he states with a half smile.

“Where else would I be? It’s only…” I look at the time on my computer. “9:23. I’ll have my budget report for you before I leave tonight.”

Naveen gives a soft chuckle before his expression turns a bit more somber. 

“That’s not why I’m here. Though I would appreciate it seeing as how we need it to address the cuts at the hospital.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, have you heard from Zyra?”

“Lewis?” I frown, hoping he doesn’t know what had transpired between us. 

Naveen leans back into the chair, lays his arms against the arm rests, and then faintly sighs before he speaks.

“I received an email from her. Apparently, her father just passed away and will be taking some leave to tend to her family.”

I have the urge to jump out of my chair. “What do you mean her father passed away?”

“It’s quite sad, isn’t it? She’s leaving tonight so we’ll have to help her out by reassigning her workload for at least the next week.”

I don’t know how long I fixate on Naveen, my gaze going right through him. He sits quietly sometimes meeting my gaze and sometimes looking down at the floor. 

“I’ll take care of it.” I break our long silence.

He leans forward and places his hand on top of my… fist. I hadn’t realized my hands were balled up against the top of my desk until now. The one under his relaxes.

“I know this is shocking. Are you alright?” He asks. 

I nod and slip my hand away, letting it fall onto my lap. I then put my glasses back on and return my focus to my computer screen. “I’ll get this to you in an hour.”

Naveen doesn’t say another word. Once he exits, I click over to my email. There is nothing from her. Perhaps I missed a phone call or a text. I pull out my phone from my coat pocket. Nothing. 

She emailed Naveen but not me? I had wrongly assumed that even under our most intense moments, we’d still turn to one another. But here I am with no email, no missed call, no voicemail, no text. 

I feel a combination of anger and disappointment begin to boil up inside of me.

* * *

I still have yet to hear from Zyra, and I’ve contemplated reaching out to her. But because of the lack of communication on her end, it’s probably better not to. My worry for her has kept me on a short fuse these past few days. I snapped at Mirani (Zaid) when he asked me about Zyra during our meeting in regards to reassigning her residency duties.

“And why would I know? Ask the Chief.” I had barked at him.

I also haven’t been able to go home since Naveen told me. I’ve been falling asleep on the couch in my office, but I haven’t been able to sleep for longer than 30 minutes at a time. 

This morning draws me into another day without hearing from Zyra. I’m lying face up on the couch, one forearm draped across my forehead, my other arm dangling off the couch with my hand skimming the floor, my feet hanging over the armrest. My white coat is covering my body like a blanket and my eyes squint open as the sunlight begins to peek through the horizontal windows that line the upper parts of the walls.

But an aggravating surprise saunters in. I catch Hirata using my coffee maker and taking ownership of my chair, as she sits there sipping on my coffee. She has come in early and never realizes I am lying on the couch quietly observing her until I have had enough of the sight of her complacency in my space. 

“What the hell are you doing, Hirata?” My voice booms between the four walls of _my_ office. 

She quickly sets down the mug on my desk and springs up from my chair. After looking shocked for a moment, she tries to psychoanalyze the situation and me. I am in no mood and kick her out, locking the door behind her. Why do I always leave this damn door unlocked? I’m instating a new policy from now on. 

I decide to go down to the gym to run a bit on the treadmill and exercise off some of this anger and stress so that I can better focus on my patients during today’s shift. But Lahela and Aveiro come in. It’s not Tuesday. Why are they even here? Even in the gym, I can’t seem to escape anyone. I’m not in the mood for our usual group workout, so I don’t acknowledge them. I just want to be alone so I can sort out all of these negative thoughts and feelings. But when I hear them beginning to talk about Zyra, I groan, yank my towel from where it’s hanging on the treadmill, and storm off into the showers. 

Not even the sounds and sensation of the water streaming down from the showerhead can calm my erratic thoughts and the tight ache in the entirety of my chest. As I stand directly under the water, the long wet strands of my hair fall into my eyes. The water soaks my beard, with droplets dangling from the ends of the hairs and then falling around my feet. More water pools on top of my upper lip, and even more streaks my skin along the contours of my muscles. Something that should feel relaxing leaves me feeling only more tense and defeated. 

I punch the wall, leaving a small crack in the white tile and a bruise along my knuckles.

* * *

I spend the day completing my usual routine of my team meeting with Hirata and Mirani (Baz) and managing our patients. The only difference is the lack of Zyra and my taking over a couple of her patients. On any other day, I would not have even noticed Zyra’s friends in the corridors, but they have seemed to appear only to add more weight to Zyra’s absence, filling up the space she has left behind. I see Greene coming out of a patient room with an intern, probably his own intern, while I’m completing a chart for Zyra’s patient at the nurses’ station. I nearly run into Trinh when I turn a corner. She gives me a quick “Hello, Dr. Ramsey” before moving on. If there was anyone to ask about Zyra’s status, it would be her, but I dismiss the temptation. Then there’s Varma with both her intern and Zyra’s who I run into in an elevator. Mirani had placed Zyra’s intern under Varma’s care until she returns. I stand off to the side and lean against the wall, not making eye contact and waiting impatiently for the elevator to make it to my floor. Thankfully, it finally opens. I pull on my tie to loosen it slightly as I make my way to my office. But before I reach my office, I grab some jerky from the vending machine. 

Naveen comes in some time later as I’m working on a case on the whiteboard. 

“I brought you a little something,” he tells me as I hear something being placed on the conference table near me. 

My hand freezes in midair, holding a whiteboard marker. I turn my head and notice a plate of food from the cafeteria. A burger with fries.

“What’s this?”

“I thought maybe you could change up your diet for at least this week.” Naveen motions to my garbage can nearly spilling over with wrappers from the vending machine.

“I’m sure you have more important things to do than worry about my diet.” I return to writing on the board. 

“It’s not just that. When was the last time you went home? Slept in your own bed?”

“I’ve been busy. As you can see, I’m down one team member.” 

“Ethan, son, you’re starting to look like how you got when you were trying to diagnose me. The overgrown facial hair. The dark circles under your eyes. Trying to hold it all together. Should I go on?”

I feel all of the heat in my body rush to my chest. My jaw clenches so tight, I could very well crack a tooth. I can’t turn around to Naveen. If I do, I might end up confiding in him, and my complicated feelings regarding Zyra are not something I care to discuss. But it’s Naveen, and I should know better. 

“I know how important she is to this team, to this hospital, and to _you_.”

He’s not so subtle, is he?

“This isn’t about her, Naveen. If you don’t mind, I need to work on this case before my next meeting.”

“Ok Ok, but do remember that our jobs lead us to creating our own families among the people here. You became mine and I would be there for you in a heartbeat for anything.”

I feel him squeeze my shoulder and then hear the door slide open and close. I slowly cap the marker and place it in the pen tray. I run a hand through my hair to collect myself, allowing the tension in my body from that entire conversation to dissipate. I focus on his implication of Zyra and I being family. He doesn’t know the strain in our relationship right now. He doesn’t know that we have had no contact since her father passed and how much I can’t ease the anxiety over not knowing. 

But being there for her? How could I? Am I to go directly to Colorado, show up at her mother’s doorstep, and offer Zyra my shoulder to lean on for comfort and support? 

…Maybe.

I grab my laptop and take a seat at the conference table. The food Naveen left behind is only a reach away. I open Google and recall the only information about Zyra’s hometown, which is the name. I do a search for funeral homes in Lakewood, Colorado. There are ten results. I click on each of them and look through the list of obituaries until I find a man named Quincey Lewis. The picture no doubt is Zyra’s father. They have the same smile. But if I had any doubt, the following words give me all the confirmation I need:

_Survived by Janet Lewis (wife), Elliot Lewis (son), Dr. Zyra Lewis (daughter), Jacob Lewis (son), Justice Lewis (brother), Nora Lewis (sister-in-law), and Artie Lewis (nephew)._

They even included the doctor address for her. 

The obituary also gives the date, time, and location of the funeral service. This Saturday. If I go down Friday, I could help her and her family with anything they may need. But I don’t know the address of her parent’s home. I try the online white pages, but there are no results. I could probably just show up at the funeral instead. I then begin to look for flights with add on reservations for a hotel and a car rental. As I near the end of the page, I leave the cursor over the “purchase” button. 

Perhaps this is going too far. If she truly wanted me there, she would have told me herself. 

I rub my chin as I stare at the screen. Then I unconsciously grab a french fry and pop it into my mouth. While I chew, I continue contemplating my decision. But then it dawns on me: I would only be causing her additional pain. 

On the very day that she learned of her father’s passing, she had decided to end whatever was happening between us. And she made it very clear that she was done with me. Her angry and pained voice still rings in my ears. Her harsh but eye-opening words echo in my mind. The image of her glistening eyes on the verge of tears haunts my dreams. I did that to her. And if I show up, I will only hurt her again. Right now, the best thing I can do for her is to respect her privacy and her time of mourning. 

I move the cursor to the top corner of the browser, click it, and watch as it closes. All of the information I found and entered for the trip vanishes with one quick click. 

I drop my head into my hands, feeling my eyes sting and my throat burn. Was this how she felt when I left and never reached out to her? I truly am an asshole and a coward.

Dammit, Zyra. Please be OK. Please.


	9. The Return (CALL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra returns back to Boston. She and Ethan may finally have to come to terms with what transpired in Colorado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some story elements from Book 2 that are incorporated in this chapter.

He’s too easy to pick out from the crowd. His 6’4” frame towers over almost everyone that passes through the baggage claim. Alan, his father, was right. He could have played basketball. It isn’t only his height that makes him distinctive amongst the crowd, but also his green leather jacket that has a stark contrast with the darker, more winter colors of the crowd. His jacket color is more representative of the green autumn leaves as they begin to transition into their reds, oranges, and yellows. 

He’s turned to the side next to the arrival screens. His bearded profile is in clear view as he’s looking up at the monitors to probably confirm my flight arrival. 

I’m standing in a line of people on the escalator descending into the baggage claim area. The closer I near the bottom, the more I can feel every nerve in my body tingle, my stomach churn, and my chest fill with a constant, forceful thumping. 

_I can’t believe how much I’ve been anticipating seeing him again._

Before Ethan left that night after the reception, he offered to pick me up when I returned. I had walked him out to his car, leaving behind some of the few guests who lingered. Jacob was nearly in tears as he said his final farewell to his superhero-come-to-life. 

But as the two of us stood there out on the sidewalk, we were both hesitant about the inevitability of him finally leaving. I could feel it in the way his hands gripped and lingered on my shoulders. The way his eyes searched mine for any type of response. A hug. A kiss. Something. It had been like that between us all day. There was some unspoken need but both of us were not ready to reach out to the other. But I ended that when I took his hand on the steps. And now, I needed his touch one last time.

I met his gaze, locking him to me. Our lips neared, but I hesitated and instead dropped my head against his chest, my face now hidden beneath a curtain of curls, and I clutched my arm against his back. I felt his arms pull against my body, almost reminiscent of our embrace on the night he took me to the airport. But this time, he caressed small circles across my back. And all I could hear breaking the silence of the night was the strong beating of his heart. It was fast and steady. I can’t remember how long we stood there, but the strength of his arms around me, the sound of his beating heart, and the smell of his natural, earthy scent like after a summer rain kept me from moving, from leaving him. 

In the end, I did need him after all. 

“Text me when you arrive and I’ll come pick you up,” he had told me. 

I pulled back and gripped the lapels of his suit jacket, rubbing the material between my fingers as if I was trying to keep something of his for after he left. A memory of what he felt like, what he smelled like that day. 

All I could do was nod in response. 

I had to stay an extra week, so Ethan and I texted back and forth a few times since he had left. I not only had to inform him of my extended stay, but he also checked on me and my family from time to time. He’s not much of a texter, so I couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness. 

After a few exchanges of texts, I’ve now returned back to Boston with him almost within my grasp. And the closer I get to him, the more hopeful I feel about the possibility of an us. It’s the most hopeful I’ve felt since what had transpired between us on the day of learning of Papa’s passing. We’ve been through arguments and misunderstandings before. We can get through this too. 

I feel an ache in my cheeks, realizing I have been smiling this whole time and for so long. 

He turns in the direction of the large group of people arriving on the escalators. Myself included. His arms are crossed against his chest. His expressionless face searching the crowd for me until he stops. And in this moment, I’m close enough to see how his hardened gaze softens once it has reached mine.

Five more seconds is what I predict will be the time left before I reach him. I have five seconds to decide if I should greet him with a hug or reserve any physical form of affection. How I ache to bask in the comfort of his arms and feel the soothing hum of his breath against my skin.

_Five_

I straighten my posture, rolling my shoulders to adjust my backpack. 

_Four_

I step off the escalator.

_Three_

I bite my lip to keep myself from revealing a smile.

_Two_

I see his arms fall against his side, as I find myself pushing through the crowd. 

_One_

I don’t even think about it. I fling my arms around his neck and feel his arms wrap around me within the space between my lower back and my backpack.

“Welcome back,” Ethan whispers against my ear. I can feel the movement of his lips against it, sending my arms to pull him closer to me.

_God, he feels so good._

I tenderly nuzzle my nose against his neck before I break our embrace. I stand next to him, as our arms return to our own bodies. I don’t know if he also feels it, but I have the need to stay close to him.

“Hi.” My voice squeaks, which brings an amused smile to Ethan’s face. I clear my throat and greet him again. “Sorry.” I feel my cheeks turn hot. “Must have been all those salty peanuts on the flight.” 

His smile widens with a playful glint in his eyes. It gives me another sign of hope. 

“Perhaps we should get you something to drink,” he offers, his smile remaining. 

“Oh, that sounds good. It would give us a chance to talk.”

Ethan’s serious expression returns. “Yes, we do.” He pauses for a moment, with something obviously weighing on his mind. “But I need to return back to the hospital after I drop you off. I can get you something at the kiosk over there.” 

I look behind him and see a seller with a selection of munchies and reading materials. 

“That’s not necessary. I can wait until I get home.”

“Well, you’re number 4,” he says and motions towards the carousels. 

As we wait for my luggage to arrive, he asks, “How are they? Your family?”

_How are they indeed?_

There were some things I had yet to tell Ethan. I kept it general in our texts. Mama is still very sad. Jacob’s been helping out a bit more around the house. Uncle and Auntie stayed a couple more days. Elliot went back home to Seattle and I have been keeping him updated.

But that wasn’t the full truth of the situation. 

Mama was quite depressed. She still is. She hasn’t been able to leave the house, mostly her bed, on most days. This has made Jacob become her caregiver. He’s making things like mac and cheese and sandwiches, easy things I taught him. He’s also cleaning around the house. He tries to get Mama up to at least wash her face and brush her teeth. I’ve asked Laura to check in on them when she can. This made it difficult for me to leave them both, knowing I had to return to my obligations at Edenbrook. 

As for Elliot, after Ethan had left, Mama and Elliot got into an argument over David. According to her, Elliot was shoving his lifestyle in her face. She didn’t take well to seeing them together. 

“How could you do this on the day of your father’s funeral, you selfish boy!” Mama had yelled at him. 

She then kicked them both out and Elliot never went back. Not even Auntie could talk reason to Mama that night. My anger towards my mama and calling her a homophobe also didn’t help matters. She didn’t speak to me for a few days after that, but once Uncle and Auntie had left, she began to open up to me again.

I’ve been the mediator between them both. Mama has asked about Elliot, but she doesn’t want to reach out to him. Elliot has been doing the same, understandably. I’ve been trying to find a solution to get them to at least talk, but neither of them want to make the effort. Now Elliot feels he has lost both of his parents all in one week. He’s currently trying to stay busy at work, coding for that new Dopey Cat game. 

Ethan turns to me, awaiting my response. 

_Everything’s gone to shit._ “You know, taking it one day at a time.” 

I’m not ready to talk about it.

He nods. “And yourself?”

“Same.”

He gently touches my elbow, and I feel my body subconsciously move closer to him. 

The carousel finally begins moving. He leaves my side and grabs my bag. He must have remembered what it looks like. 

“This one?”

I smile. “Always the observant one. Thanks.”

“I am a diagnostician after all.” He returns my smile.

He wheels my suitcase behind him like before as we make our way to his car. 

“So, I see you parked legally this time.”  
  
“I didn’t want to appear too overzealous,” he remarks with a teasing tone. 

“Well, I think I am overdue for some flattery.” I return his tease.

He stops in front of his trunk and turns to me. I notice his eyes roam over my face, but then he shakes his head with a wary smile. I immediately feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. 

_He’s being hesitant again, isn’t he?_

It takes about 20 minutes to get to my apartment. On the way, with a concerto playing in the background, I converse with Ethan about my anticipation for returning to work, a much needed distraction. But most of the time the conversation is one-sided. He gives me a few, generic one- to two-word responses and filler sounds, his most common utterance being _uh-huh_. His mind appears to be elsewhere. Even his body looks stiff and unable to relax against the seat. Both hands grip the steering wheel instead of his usual one hand on his thigh, the other with only his fingers resting against the lower curve of the steering wheel. 

_What has changed between the airport and now?_

He pulls up in front of my building, and before I can even thank him, he speaks.

“Zyra, we need to talk.”

Based on his driving posture, his lack of verbal interaction, and now these all-too-familiar doomed words, I begin to realize exactly where this is heading. 

He puts the car in park and takes a deep breath, which makes his chest rise sharply. 

“Is something wrong?” I ask him hesitantly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Before you return to work tomorrow, you need to be aware of some changes during your absence.”

“Ok. Sure.” 

“Does the name Gwenyth Monroe ring a bell?” Ethan finally turns to me, his eyes hard. They match the rest of the serious lines that are now etched across his face. 

My brain searches for the name, and then recognition finally hits. The social media influencer I had contacted right before I left. I had completely forgotten about her with everything that was going on. Now I feel my own body tense up. I swallow hard.

“Um, yes, she–”

“You deliberately went behind my back,” Ethan cuts me off. “I specifically told you no but you reached out to her anyway. Do you have any idea what position you had put me and the team in when she just appeared out of the blue?”

“Ethan, I’m sorry, but I was trying to find a way to save the team for our patients.”

“Well, thanks to you, the Board was quite enthusiastic and now they want us to bring in wealthy patients.”

“How is that a bad thing? We get to help the people who really need it while paying some bills along the way.”

“Dammit, Zyra.” He runs his hand down his face. “You still fail to understand how this undermines the overall principles and purposes of this team, the team Naveen built. And now, I just…” His head falls back against the seat with a soft thump.

“You just what?”

“With what you’re going through, I didn’t know how to bring this up without expressing my anger and disappointment.” I see his gaze lock onto the ceiling. “Everything is just so damn complicated. You, after all this, I can only see you in a complicated light.”

“What does that mean?” My body turns toward him defensively.

He sighs. “I don’t know. And whatever was happening again between us–”

“Oh my god,” I blurt out. The words make Ethan dart his gaze back to me. “I should have known. I am such an idiot.” 

I begin to unbuckle my seatbelt, but my tone is more sorrowful than angry. I am not even shocked. I’m more disappointed, almost disgusted with myself. My words begin to come out like a planned speech I had practiced repeatedly over the course of the past two weeks. These are words that have lingered in the back of my mind, readying to come out in the fruition of my true fear. A harrowing cold fills my body, as if all of the blood has stopped circulating, leaving me with nothing more than the sound of my voice that indicates I’m still alive. 

“I should have known better than to let you back in. And I was foolish enough to believe you. Again.” I open the car door. “I’m not going to blame you Ethan.” My voice begins to tremble. “This is on me for thinking that your coming to Colorado actually meant something. That you actually cared about me.”

“Zyra, please, let me explain.”

“No, Ethan. I’m tired.” I hold a hand up to him and briefly shut my eyes. “I’m just so tired of all of this with you. We’re always in the same loop, aren’t we? And I believe we always will be with this exhausting back and forth that goes nowhere.” I step out of the car. My legs feel frail, but I immediately find my strength in both my voice and in my body. “So I’ll give you what you want. Erase and reset, right? Colorado never happened. See you tomorrow, Dr. Ramsey.” 

I close the door, slamming it a little too hard. I begin to walk away when I realize that he still has my luggage. 

_Fuck!_

I turn back around and see him with his head down. I knock on the window and point to the back of his car. It pops open. 

After the embarrassing charade of retrieving my luggage and failing miserably at leaving with some dignity, I’ve finally made it back. But when I open the door, there’s nothing but a still chill in the air of the empty apartment. All of my roommates are on their shifts, and so without them, without my family, without Ethan, I am truly alone for the first time in two weeks. 

I leave my luggage in the living room as I go to the kitchen. I see a handwritten note on the fridge.

_Welcome back! There’s leftover pizza in the fridge. See you tonight! – S, E, A, J_

My fingers run over the words. That’s Sienna’s handwriting. I begin to feel a warmth flood my body, helping slowly melt the icy cold that overtook it. 

_But part of you worries, deep down, that one day you’ll only have yourself to count on._

My hand drops from the note as my eyes widen at the random recollection of Ethan’s words to me from when he first took me to his secret coffee shop last year. 

But he was right. 

I lean against the refrigerator, sliding down against it to the floor. I pull my knees to my chest and drop my head onto my knees. 

_I’m losing my family one by one._

I let myself cry. 

I open the curtains to my room, hoping the morning sunlight will do me some good for my mood. I take off my jeans with their knees currently stained with my tears. I slip on a pair of pajama pants and pull on the waist string. I let them hang low on my hip bones. Perhaps unpacking will help preoccupy my mind for a little while. 

I unzip my backpack and begin pulling things out and putting them back in their original places. But there’s one thing I can’t let go of. I have it held in both hands. It’s a drawing of Captain American and Falcon that Jacob had drawn. It was supposed to be a present for Ethan. I even had my brother write a little note at the bottom and sign it. 

_We make the best team! I look forward to our next adventure. – Your Falcon and best friend, Jacob._

“Oh, buddy,” I whisper sadly to myself. 

I open the bottom drawer of my desk and slip it in, hiding it away. But when I shut the drawer, my hand shakes.

* * *

I may have anticipated seeing Ethan yesterday, but not today. I decided to come in early in hopes to catch up on patient cases before I begin my shift, so my anxiety is eating through my stomach. When I enter Ethan’s office, Baz is already there. 

His bright, welcoming expression is just what I needed to help ease my anxiety. 

“Zyra! Welcome back!”

After a brief hug, he extends his condolences. I thank him and then ask him about Ethan.

“He had to attend a Board meeting this morning. He asked me to get you up to speed with the cases. He also hasn’t been in the best mood ever since the Board made us change our priorities. Just a heads up.” 

“He blames me, doesn’t he?” I take a seat at the conference table. 

“Not explicitly.” He tries to give me a comforting smile. “But he’s had a lot going on. He had to go out of town for a consultation for a few days. Then he came back to your surprise and had to deal with the Board. So, he’s a bit tense.”

A consultation? So Baz doesn’t know that Ethan was really in Colorado with me.

He then looks at his phone. “You also need to meet my brother in about an hour.”

“Right. I have a lot to catch up on.”

Baz goes over some cases with me, gives me more details about our new policy of taking in more wealthy patients, and updates me on everything I’ve missed. 20 minutes in and June comes. Her expression indicates that she is surprised to see me. 

“Zyra, it’s good to see you.” June sits down across from me and Baz. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now what occurred while you were away.”

I give her a slow nod.

“But I have to admit, you challenging Ethan in order to find a solution for the team is quite admirable.” June gives me a friendly smile, well, it’s probably what she might consider friendly. I try not to take it personally, but sometimes I find her smiles quite condescending.

“You should have seen the look on his face when Gwenyth showed up,” Baz states. 

“I’m sure I could imagine,” I respond, forcing a smile. “So what was she diagnosed with?”

Baz and June look at each other and then laugh. I look between them, my eyes are wide with my right eyebrow arched. But before they could even tell me, the door slides open.

“You’ve all welcomed back Lewis? Great. We’ve got work to do.”

Ethan enters, his steps heavy against the floor. But as he turns to address us, he has a noticeably different appearance. Ethan is no longer sporting his beard. He has returned to his stubble, which has given his strong jawline room to breathe again. But I can’t help but realize how his change is _not_ subtle. 

_Really, Ethan? The day right after?_

I glare at him. It’s as if the fire I feel in my eyes could literally burn a hole right through him. Thankfully, for June and Baz, any palpable tension between us could be attributed to Gwenyth, and not to this fucked up bogus relationship. 

“Anything you want to add, Lewis?” Ethan asks with a sharpness in his tone.

There’s a lot I could add. For one, I could add how I was wrong. He’s not a coward. He’s nothing more than a prick. A huge prick who I have wasted enough of my tears and time on. But I bite my tongue.

“No, Dr. Ramsey,” I reply as calmly as I can. 

He’s quite overzealous afterall. So passionate about trying to erase me from his life. He couldn’t be any more clearer. He had returned from the Amazon with that beard. When he asked my opinion on it–I loved it–he decided to keep it. And now–

Now I know where we officially stand. 


	10. The Return (WITHHOLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra returns back to Boston. She and Ethan finally have to face each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some story elements from Book 2 that are incorporated in this chapter. This chapter also contains some sexual content.

The flight back feels longer than the flight to Colorado. Usually the return flight should feel shorter, but perhaps it’s more due to what is awaiting me back in Boston. 

_I’ll have to face Ethan eventually. It’s inevitable._

There’s also a part of me that isn’t ready for all of the outpouring of pity, even if well-intentioned. The looks. The _I’m sorrys._ The expectant touches of comfort. I just want to return to work, to my patients, to my friends without this extra complication. Hopefully, it won’t last more than the day I return to Edenbrook. 

I stare out the window as the plane descends over Boston. The visual microcosm of the city begins to disappear as the buildings, roads, and cars grow larger in view. I can now make out individual trees at Boston Park. I had left from here without much of a care. But now as I take in everything that makes up the place I live, I realize how much I’ve missed it. It’s my home. It has _become_ my home. 

I’ve been away from my Boston home longer than planned. 

Auntie and Uncle had to leave a day after the wedding because Artie had to return to school. So I decided to stay a few extra days because Mama has become severely depressed since the funeral. With the busy week past us and the funeral now over, Mama has had time to let herself linger on her feelings and truly grieve. Her losing the love of her life has been nothing but debilitating for her, and it’s as if she really isn’t there, locked away inside her mind fixating on Papa, obviously. 

It wasn’t just for Mama but for Jacob as well. He still hasn’t spoken much, and usually keeps to himself in his room. But when Elliot and I tried to get him to come out and hang with us, he began to have angry outbursts. He’d push us away, sometimes quite forcefully, he’d yell at us to leave him alone, and he’d slam things like his bedroom door. Elliot took the scolding route that only made Jacob act out even more. I tried sitting down and talking with him about his behavior and trying to make it known that I understood why he’s angry. We’ve all lost someone special to us and we’re all trying to figure out how to cope, but being angry at us isn’t the way. Even my more empathetic approach didn’t seem to work. He didn’t appear to listen to what I was trying to tell him. And I’m sure now that I’m not there, Elliot has gone back to scolding him. I just hope he’s more responsible about it and doesn’t scold him for every little thing. 

Elliot and I talked a lot, trying to come up with some kind of plan to help them, as we both have pushed our feelings aside to focus on Mama and Jacob. I had to return to continue my residency, but Elliot can work remotely. He was able to square things away with his boss, so we decided that he would stay and I would return back to Boston, helping in other ways. We’re still figuring that part out.

After the plane touches down, it doesn’t take me long to make it to baggage claim. I wasn’t paying attention when the flight attendant noted our carousel number over the intercom, so now I’m searching the arrival list on the screens for my number. 

As I’m waiting for my bag, I finally turn my phone off airplane mode and see some texts from Elliot. 

**El: got mama to the kitchen for breakfast 👍🏾** **  
** **  
** **El: Jacob went to school with no words as usual and slamming the car door. Fun times!**

**El: should we look into some counseling for them?**

_Counseling?_

If it has been difficult to get Mama to even come down for breakfast, how could we get her to counseling, let alone find her someone decent? But that’ll be my job. I text him back immediately.

**ZL: I’ll do some research and get back to you soon. Just landed.**

* * *

I sigh in relief at the sight of my apartment. Just the thought of some alone time and sleeping in my own bed fills me with a sudden burst of anticipation. But then it’s drowned out by the guilt of having this opportunity, while Elliot is left managing all the heavy labor, without his bed, without his apartment, without David.

I thank the driver of the rideshare and head up to my apartment. My roommates should be at work, so I expect the apartment to be quiet and empty, giving me time to unpack and to mentally prepare for returning to the hospital tomorrow. And to Ethan. 

_God, I am dreading that meeting._

But the moment I open the door, I hear sounds coming from the TV. Leaving my bag and backpack by the door, I approach the living room and see Rafael on the couch playing one of Elijah’s video games. When he turns toward my direction, his character immediately dies. 

I chuckle loudly. “Sorry about that.” I point to the screen.

Rafael puts the controller down and I go to sit next to him on the couch.

“Oh, it’s fine. I wasn’t really making much progress. How are you doing?” He wraps me in a tender hug, which I let linger, taking in a form of human contact outside of my family that feels both odd and comforting at the same time.

“I’m OK.” I slowly pull away, but my hand stays on his thigh. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

“Elijah lets me play his games.” He drapes his arm across the back of the couch behind me. “I’ve been hanging around here on some days while I wait to hear back about my suspension.” 

“Nothing yet?”

He shakes his head, but gives me a warm smile. “It’s OK. But Sora hasn’t been too thrilled about my suspension. She thinks I’ve been too careless with my life. I wish she’d understand.” His smile slips and I squeeze his thigh.

“I think we all just want you to be safe.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He locks his gaze onto mine. “Anyway, enough about me. Your family doing OK?” I feel his hand enclose around mine.

“I don’t know, Raf.” I drop my head, not realizing how close it is to his shoulder. “But thank you for texting me, keeping me company. It really helped.”

I feel his fingers push back some of my straight locks–which I hadn’t had the time to wash out–behind my ear. My head then finally meets his shoulder, and I just lay against him in silence. His fingers still against my cheek. His touch is warm and inviting.

“I care about you, Zyra. I’m here if you need anything, OK?” His voice is low, but raspy. His breath when he speaks ignites the nerves under my skin, making me feel something other than sorrow and anger.

I tilt my head up against his shoulder, and I can see how close his face is to mine. His gentle expression wraps me up within a safe bubble, silently relaying a message that everything will work out in the end. 

And I believe him. 

His soft but lust-filled eyes guide me to him, and I slam my lips against his. My hands move up to rake through his hair, my fingernails scratching against his scalp. I hear him moan against our heated and passionate liplock. 

I move onto his lap, straddling him. I already feel his need, hard and ready. I grind against it. His mouth opens against mine in surprise, and then pauses to search my expression for something. I press my aching lips to his again, giving him hopefully what he’s asking for.

_I need this. I’ve been needing this so badly._

His hands roam all over my body, caressing the curves of my ass, sending sparks of electricity up my sides and back, until he grips the bottom of my shirt, pulling it over my head. I eagerly do the same, and toss his shirt to the floor at his feet. We continue kissing, my lips feeling raw but he tastes so delicious, so intoxicating that I can’t stop our dance. I don’t even bother to look at his bare torso, but I can feel his chiseled muscles as my hands explore him, traveling along every line, curve, and dip. 

This unplanned passion-induced thrill doesn’t even give me a chance to feel self-conscious about my scrawny self, about all of the weight I have lost. When his fingers glide against the exposed bones of my ribcage or when his lips travel down my neck to the curves of my breasts peeking out from under my bra, I just push myself more against him and moan in satisfaction.

I cup his face, bringing him back up to me, as I want only to continue devouring him. His kisses slowly but temporarily are healing my concealed wounds. And for the first time in a while, I don’t feel the intense, crushing pain that has left my mind and body feeble and withering. I want to feel good, and he is making me feel a lost sense of gratification.

_Don’t stop, Raf._

His skin is smooth against mine as we kiss. There’s no itchy stubble or facial hair to increase the pleasure of his lips pounding against mine. My arms don’t have to extend as wide to reach broader shoulders, where my fingers could claw into them for extra support. My hands don’t have to trail south for very long, unlike the longer, taut torso that when pressed against mine can pin me down and make me gasp in a heart-pounding, aching need. His hands don’t need to be larger in order to completely cup one of my ass cheeks or one of my breasts and squeeze it in the way that makes my body shudder. It also doesn’t matter that his thumb doesn’t trace my nipple in the way that I like or that his lips never move behind my ear hitting that one erogenous zone where I have to bite my lower lip to keep his name from escaping in a breathless utterance, or that his fingertips never do that circling motion against my inner left thigh that make my toes curl. And his bulge doesn’t need to fill the circumference between my legs as I move my hips against his, making me tempted to rip off his pants and finally take what I so long desire. 

When I open my eyes, those dual jewels as blue as a clear summer sky in the daytime do not look back at me in hunger and longing in the way that excites me. Instead, they are an unfamiliar brown, kind and gentle, but unfamiliar in this intimacy.

_…Ethan._

When Rafael realizes that I’m no longer returning his kisses, he pulls back and looks at me baffled.

“Is everything OK?” He asks.

I slowly get off of him and look around for my shirt. It’s behind the couch. I quickly pull it back on and wrap my arms around myself, now becoming overcome with embarrassment and insecurity.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea if we continued.” I stay standing behind him as he bends over to pick up his own shirt.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” He stands up and slips on his shirt, grabs his jacket and puts it on. 

“With everything going on, I just think we’d be doing it for the wrong reasons. And Sora…”

It’s hard for me to look in his direction. He doesn’t say a word as he leaves. I only hear the front door open and then close with a soft click. 

I sink onto the couch, my entire body goes limp. I made a terrible mistake. Not just because I made out with him, but because I helped him cheat on Sora. If I needed sex so badly, I should have gotten it from someone else. But it wasn’t really about the sex. It was more about my vulnerability and feeling comforted. In some way, was I using him? And then I can’t help but recall how my mind immediately went to Ethan and the way he knows exactly what to do with my body. A part of me feels as if I cheated on him too even though we’re not together in any way. It just shows he’s harder to get over than I realize, and that his is the only touch and comfort that I truly long for. Am I now going to compare every man I’m with to him for the rest of my life? Am I ever going to be able to have sex again?

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

I can’t help but notice what is left behind on the TV screen. The screen is black except for some bold words in crimson. 

_You died._

That sounds fitting. Those words sum up everything recently. 

Have I now also killed my relationship with Rafael?

* * *

In our last email exchange, Dr. Banerji told me to come in an hour early. Ethan and Zaid are to meet with me to help me get caught up before my shift. Thankfully, I won’t be left alone with Ethan. Perhaps it won’t be so awkward seeing him again after all. Zaid could be our unintentional buffer.

I make my way to Ethan’s office, but as I approach the door, it doesn’t slide open as it usually does. I back up and try again. Still nothing. I try to look around inside. I don’t see anyone, but I also can’t see the entirety of the office. I then try knocking on the glass. With no response of any kind, I pull out my phone to note the time. I am 20 minutes early. Perhaps he’s not here yet. But when I look up, I see that familiar figure come into view. 

He has stopped in front of the door. His hair is disheveled. His beard has grown a bit longer. His face looks fatigued. He’s in his usual work clothes of his dress shirt and slacks, but no tie or shoes. 

I see how wide his eyes have gotten. His mouth is also agape. But I realize that mine are too. 

There’s only the glass door now separating us and our reunion. 

He pats his pockets and then holds a finger up at me. He disappears off to the side where I can no longer see him. 

I immediately feel my pulse speed up. The air around me seems to turn hot, and I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. 

Ethan reappears, fumbling with a set of keys in his hands. He’s also now wearing his shoes. I take a step back as he works the lock on the door. My breathing becomes heavy as I wait, knowing that once that door opens I will have to finally interact with him for the first time since my angry outburst.

I feel the cold air blow in my direction as the door finally opens. We just stand there still looking at each other with an obvious hesitation on who should speak first or what should be said. I muster up some courage and break our awkward silence.

“So you keep the door locked now?” I ask, the edges of my lips curling up.

I see the tension in Ethan’s shoulder leave and his more serious but shocked expression softens slightly. 

“New policy.” He doesn’t return my subtle smile, but I can see a lightness in his eyes. “Um, come in.” 

He runs a hand through his hair and goes back to his desk, picking up a stack of files that he places on the conference table. 

“Why don’t you begin looking through these. I’ll be right back.”

He takes a quick leave, as I’m just left there standing alone in his office. Perhaps awkward isn’t the best word to describe our interaction. I look around and notice papers piled up on his desk, and clutter spread out around his couch. His laptop is on the floor beside the couch. Some empty wrappers of beef jerky and nacho cheese Doritos packets and a half empty bottle of water lay next to it. I clear up the trash and then place the water bottle and laptop on his desk. I also pick up his white coat that was laid out on the couch. His tie is hanging out from one of the pockets. I go to hang the coat on the back of his chair.

 _Ethan, are you OK? What is going on with you?_

I take one more look around, trying to find anything else that seems out of place. When I don’t, I then do as he said and take a seat to begin going through the patient files. I’ve just about finished reviewing them when he returns. His clothes look fresh, his hair no longer unkempt, and he looks more awake. 

He tosses a bag of jerky on the table.

“Perhaps you should eat something,” he comments, while making his way across the office to his coffee maker. 

My face begins to burn. If I touch it, the heat would probably bilster my hand. Of course he’s noticed how thin I’ve gotten. I can’t help but feel embarrassed. I timidly open the bag and grab a small piece, nibbling on it like some rat. 

“Do you want a cup?” He offers.

His special coffee? He’s offering me his special coffee? Perhaps things won’t be so bad after all.  
  
“Sure,” I politely answer.

He brings back two mugs to the table and hands me one before he takes a seat next to me. We sip on our coffees without another word exchanged between us. As I take another sip, I continue reading the patient file I have open in front of me. 

“I-I’m sorry to hear about your father.” He sets his mug down.

The taste of the bitterness of the coffee leaves my mouth when I hear him. And for a split second, it’s as if I can taste _him_. Perhaps it’s just his scent wafting towards me and affecting my olfactory, which in turn affects my taste receptors. 

“Um, thanks.” I hesitantly turn my head to catch him looking at me. 

“How are you?” He continues with a tenderness laced in his question.

I put my mug down, giving me a brief moment to figure out how to respond. I don’t know if this is the same Ethan I can confide in. If it were, I would tell him everything. But I know it’s not the same Ethan anymore. Not after what happened, so I keep my response simple.

“You know, taking it one day at a time.” I blink a few times as my gaze travels around him until it settles back on his face. He’s still looking at me with a look of concern. I think it might be concern, but maybe I’m seeing what I want to see. 

I sense hesitation from him due to the way he searches my expression, the way his shoulders appears more tense, and the way his fingers slowly move against his thigh. 

He then gets up and picks a file up from his overcrowded desk. But he stops. 

“Did you clean up in here?”

“Sorry. I kinda got used to cleaning up after my family back home.”

His head shakes, but because his back is to me, I can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed. I hear a low, muffled chuckle from him. 

_So, amused then?_

He returns to me, taking the same seat. If he were amused, I wouldn’t have been able to tell from the habitual seriousness plastered across his face. He sets the file in front of him, leans back in his chair, and crosses one of his long legs over the other. 

“I know that you’ve been through a lot recently, so please consider this conversation strictly professional.”

He slides the file to me. I can only give him a bewildered look before I open the file and begin to read it.

“What do you see?” He asks. 

_Is he testing me or something?_

I read the patient’s name, dates of admission and discharge. Past medical history. Reason for the admission. Symptoms. But then my eyes dart back up to the name before I continue reading. _Gwenyth Monroe._

I feel an anxious knot settle in my stomach. The air has become hot again. It’s so hot that I begin to pull on the collar of my scrubs.

“It’s the influencer I reached out to,” I say without looking over at him. I keep my focus on the file. 

“Exactly.” 

“Ethan, um, Dr. Ramsey, I can explain.”

“There’s no explanation needed. I understand why you did it.”

In shock, I finally turn to look at him. I was expecting him to sound angry. I was expecting harsher words. I was expecting some type of scolding like during my intern year. 

“You do?”

“I will admit that I was furious you went behind my back. I honestly felt betrayed. But then I realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re no longer an intern, Zyra. And you’re not just a resident. You’re now my colleague, my equal. We’re not always going to agree on everything and I need to remember that.”

_Your equal?_

“But in all honesty,” he continues, “I should be thanking you.”

“W-why?”

“You made the hard decision that I couldn’t.”

My body turns to face him. I lean slightly forward and place my hand on his knee without even realizing that I have. It’s one of those instinctual habits I’ve always had with him. 

“But it wasn’t a hard decision. You’re the one who taught me that our patients always come first. We’ll always be vindicated in the end when we do. I was fighting for them in any way that I could. And this was one way.”

And then my body is triggered by a soothing warmth that my senses recognize as something so natural, so healing. His hand is now on top of mine. But maybe I’m just letting my guard down. It can’t be this easy. 

“I know,” he simply agrees. He begins to gently caress the back of my hand like he used to.

I feel a blush come on and I slightly lower my head. But I feel Ethan hook the loose strand of hair that’s hanging against the side of my face behind my ear. 

“You’ve changed your hair.”

I sit straight up and swipe the hair further behind my ear. I have my locks pulled back in a ponytail, but some in front have remained loose due to their shortness. 

“It’s a long story.”

“Hopefully, you can tell me the story one day.” I then see that radiant smile of his, and I begin to question everything.

Just these simple gestures confirm why I couldn’t go all the way with Rafael yesterday. They also remind me of the reason why I blew up at Ethan. And I don’t know if I should feel regret for blowing up at him or regret for allowing myself to have this closeness with him again. But one thing’s for certain: our supposed professional conversation has turned quite personal. This might be a good time to bring it up.

“So Ethan, about what happened between us–”

“We can talk about that later,” he cuts me off. 

I nod and try to avert my gaze from his, returning to Gwenyth’s file. But there’s something in the file that grabs my attention. I have to reread it multiple times for it to finally register. Perhaps I need to grab Ethan’s glasses to see if I’ve read this right. But the truth makes me burst out laughing uncontrollably. I can’t remember when I had a real, honest laugh, one where I could feel my stomach muscles aching. 

“Taenia saginata?” I ask as I try to calm down. I can feel the tears settling along the edges of my eyes. 

“Yes,” he responds nonchalantly.

“Poor Gwyneth! A tapeworm out of all things.” I erupt in laughter again. “Sorry. Sorry. But I don’t know if I should be sorry for going behind your back or finding this hilarious.”

Ethan sighs. “Rookie…”

“Sorry. Sorry.” I wipe at my eyes. “I’m done. Promise.”

After finally calming down, Ethan begins to catch me up on our patients. He answers the questions I had mentally listed while reviewing each file. He also explains the result of Gwyneth and how her case influenced the Board to make the team bring in more wealthy patients in hopes to help save the hospital.

I have hope too. I have hope that Ethan and I will be able to work past what happened and move on. And I also hope we will finally figure out our feelings for each other.

We continue our discussion over delicious coffee and rubbery vending machine jerky as we wait for Zaid. I don’t know how this morning has turned from the anxiety-induced interaction I was heavily expecting to the tender, intimate one. But there’s still a little voice inside my head questioning some of my fears.

 _I shouldn’t give in too_ _quickly. Not until we talk._

But I try to ignore it for now.

Perhaps I was wrong about him the entire time. Perhaps I overreacted. Or perhaps my words made him truly assess how he had been treating me. Or perhaps being apart helped him truly understand his feelings for me. Or perhaps he’s acting this way because I lost my father.

_Perhaps…_

Whatever the correct answer is, all I know is that after all the recent loss and grief, at this very moment, I feel as if I have my Ethan back. So perhaps the day won’t be as insufferable as I had imagined.


	11. Ethan's Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ethan is faced with the issue of Gwenyth Monroe, he has to come to terms with his rule of conditions. This rule has him further contemplate his feelings for Zyra and how he responds to her return to Boston. His response will affect the direction their relationship will head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some story elements from Book 2 that are incorporated in this chapter.

I hold up my hand with my palm facing forward, blocking the lens of a camera. 

“I’d advise you to get that camera out of my face,” I order with a threatening glare at the cameraman. 

The man’s face is shocked. His glance flicks towards the young, blonde woman in the hospital bed. He then turns his intrusive device in the direction of Hirata and Mirani, who appear to be a bit more inviting, or, in regards to Mirani, more conflict-averse. 

_Gwenyth Monroe_ , her file reads. Every time I have read that name, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of anger so hot, that I literally feel it spreading through my body like a wildfire. If I were more inclined to think nonsensically, I might believe I could literally set the papers I’m holding in my hand on fire just with my touch alone. 

But one question lingers: _How could she do this to me?_

“We’ll find another way,” I had told my resident. But I should have known that would not have ended her crusade due to her unwillingness to let things go. There are more ethical solutions that wouldn’t have compromised our principles and the very principles of this team. I’m certain we would have been able to find an alternate solution. But now she’s not here to even take responsibility for this mess she has created. I can’t put blame on her for her current absence, but I can put blame on her for the current predicament.

She not only deliberately went behind my back, but she put me in a situation where I felt humiliated in front of Naveen. 

Naveen had approached me this morning with this new intake, assuming I had known about it. I had to mask my shock when the realization of the situation hit me once I saw the name of the patient. I also had to omit my lack of knowledge of this woman being recruited by my team, in this case, by a resident whom I thought I could trust. 

I am trapped between the anger towards her betrayal and the shame of not being able to manage my team. 

What would Naveen think if he knew I had members of the team going rogue? It would be further proof of my incapability of leading the team that he single-handedly created for the very opposite purpose. Our focus is on helping those who have difficulty paying through insurance, income, or both. Not catering to the rich. _I’ll be compromising his vision… again._

Naveen had already chewed me out about the contract with Panacea Labs, putting one additional hurdle in the way of looking into making the team publicly funded, so that those who do have the financial challenges for their health care will not have to pay. Even though he understood I made the choice to enter the contract to try to save his life, I still feel there is some lingering tension remaining between us. I don’t know if he has yet to fully forgive me. It’s a conversation I have avoided. 

I also never told Zyra the full truth about going to the Amazon. Zyra believes it was because of her. And it is true. I never lied to her about that. But I also never mentioned that the other reason was due to my fears of failing Naveen. I failed him when I couldn’t diagnose him. It shook my confidence in my abilities to the point that I had temporarily quit. But now, those insecurities have lingered and I don’t have the full confidence in myself. It is why fleeing to assist the W.H.O. in the Amazon became a time of reassessment for a fresh start with both Zyra and Naveen. 

But now with this decision taken from me and putting myself and the team in this complicated situation, I’m left with my fears coming true. I’m not good enough to run this team, which Naveen shouldn’t have entrusted to me. I am leading it to its doom afterall. And there’s also the fears I had in regards to my feelings for Zyra.

I observe Ms. Monroe as she speaks into the camera, fawning sympathy from her millions of followers. This woman is not the profile of a patient meant for the diagnostics team. I feel the papers crinkle in my hand. 

Now I’m left with questioning my trust for my resident. 

_Everything has conditions. Everything. Even with her._

* * *

####  _CALL_

It takes a while for my muscles to relax. They have been tight all day, and I can already feel a usual ache in my shoulders and neck. The couch in my office isn’t a place I would describe as relaxing. I purposefully ordered one with firm cushions, as I don’t want to become too comfortable at work. Becoming comfortable leads to becoming too lax. My patients don’t have time for that. 

My laptop is sitting on my thighs. I have yet to open it as my fingers drum against the lid, my thoughts weighing heavily on Zyra. _I can’t sit here_. I get up and move to one of the chairs at the conference table. I finally get settled, but all I’m doing now is staring at the homepage of Pictogram. To diagnose Ms. Monroe, I’ve decided to go through all of the products she sampled for her followers and make a list of chemicals she had come in contact with. But I’ve come to find out that I can’t access her account without creating one of my own. 

My phone, which is laying next to my laptop, rings. I look down and see it’s Dad. I frown regrettably, even guilt lurks beneath, as I do what I have been doing all week: Ignoring his calls. I turn my phone over with the screen facing downward. 

I then hear the door open and I look up, seeing Harper. 

“Glad to have caught you,” she says as she stops and places her hands on the back of one of the chairs opposite me. “About Mr. Rodriguez and the CSF leak, I’m going to hand him off to Dr. Shadid. I have a full load this week, so I won’t be able to do the surgery. She’s one of my best neurosurgeons, and I trust her with it.”

“I trust you to make the best call for the patient, Harper,” I reply matter-of-factly and then turn back to my screen.

Mr. Rodriguez came to us right before Zyra left. Apparently, the conservative treatments, such as bedrest, weren’t effective and Harper recommended surgery, to which Mr. Rodriguez agreed. 

But of course this case makes me think about her. 

It was Zyra who had diagnosed him, unsurprisingly. She has proven to demonstrate the potential I saw in her application when I recommended her for the program, and when I saw her in action during her intern year. But when she had diagnosed Naveen’s mysterious illness, something I couldn’t even do, I knew I had brought in the future of diagnostics. Ever since joining my team, she has proven herself time and time again, and when she diagnosed the Governor’s son just by looking at him, it was in that moment when I couldn’t help but realize how her intelligence, her compassion for patients and others, and her prowess as a doctor are what attract me most to her. At this rate, I know one day she will be my equal as a diagnostician, perhaps even better. But I still can’t help but feel that pain of betrayal that twists around in my gut every time I am reminded of her, regardless of my attraction. 

_How can I try to understand my feelings for her if I am beginning to lose my trust in her?_

“Ethan?” I believe I hear Harper calling out to me but, with my mind distracted by the thoughts of my resident, it fails to register completely. I then feel my arm being squeezed, which finally breaks me from my temporary zoned-out state. When I come back to reality, I see that Harper has taken a seat in the chair with her hand lingering on my arm. 

I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. “I’m sorry, Harper. It’s been a long day.” 

“I can see that.” She gets up and stands directly behind me, as she begins to massage the knot out from my shoulder. I tense at her touch at first, but then relax under its familiarity from long ago. “You are quite tight. What has you so stressed?” 

The answer is complicated, but speaking to Harper about Zyra will only make me more tense. And I already suspect that she is aware that there was more between me and Zyra last year. That is another conversation I am avoiding.

I lean forward away from her. I feel her release her hands, which were beginning to rub up along the nape of my neck. If I had let her continue, her hands would have moved forward to my temples, her fingers running circles against them. I would then close my eyes, lean my head back against her chest, and yield to her. She would then lift my chin, her eyes meeting mine, which would now be half-opened in a relaxed daze. Her eyes would provide further comfort in the way they hold onto my vulnerableness. Our lips would then meet in an upside down kiss as her fingertips still against my temples and begin to travel slowly down my neck and under the collar of my shirt, to massage along my chest. After our years together, her actions are obviously predictable, but at a different time, I would have welcomed it, even wanted it. 

She pats my shoulders tenderly before sitting back down across from me. 

“I can’t help but notice you’re taking a curious interest in social media now.” She changes the topic, while motioning towards my laptop.

“It’s for research for a patient, but I’m trying to make an account,” I admit as I click through various links. 

“Ethan Ramsey on social media, I can’t even fathom the idea.” A light chuckle escapes her. “Here.” She turns my laptop towards her and begins typing. “You can use my account. I trust you to log out when you’re finished.” She glances up at me a few times between her typing. “You know, Pictogram is quite useful, professionally. You should look into it. Maybe even see how physicians use it, not just with patients but also for networking and educating the world.”

“I read an article about the use of social media by physicians last year. It was longwinded and failed to provide a convincing argument,” I refute.

“Well, it looks to me you are in dire need of it now.” She turns the laptop back in my direction. I then feel her hand against my cheek followed by her lips, kissing me softly. “Whatever is troubling you, I know you will figure it out.” 

I freeze against her affectionate touch, as I refrain from even making eye contact. She leaves my cheek with a lingering warmth that feels foreign against my skin. Her touch, her kiss, doesn’t give me any of the comfort she probably expects. 

My mind immediately goes to the warmth generated between Zyra and me as I held her hand on the stoop outside her childhood home. It’s as if our cells were in sync with producing the energy needed to create the heat between us. And it felt honest.

I then hear Harper’s voice again.

“But try not to resort to something illegal, like stealing hospital resources,” she states with accusation, as she stands to leave. 

“Harper—” I begin, readying to argue.

“Well, what you do no longer concerns me,” she cuts me off. “I’m no longer your boss. But don’t act out due to desperation. Be the sensible, rational Ethan I know.” 

After she leaves, I stare at the empty space where she had stood. There’s some truth to what Harper just said. I need to not make decisions based on my emotions. But can I easily just ignore what happened between Zyra and me back in Colorado and not only Zyra, but also her family? Zyra was already struggling so much to not let me in, and once she finally did, I had given her hope again. Just by going there, I also gave it to myself. 

But I can’t allow my mind to contemplate everything and what it may mean. I need to focus on Ms. Monroe. _The condition._

* * *

It’s been almost an hour since I began searching and logging each product with its corresponding ingredients. I remove my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut in hopes to erase my fatigue and irritation. _How many more lip balms and concealers do I need to subjugate myself to?_ I rub the back of my neck before I continue with the research. Hopefully, her toxicology results will show some connections and lead me to a diagnosis. 

I sip on my lukewarm coffee as I continue scrolling. I stop on a video labeled **_Follower Questions: My Greatest Fear_**. Even though I doubt this post will provide me with any clues, I can’t ignore it. Even the smallest detail into her life can be significant into identifying a lead.

I click play. Ms. Monroe appears to be outside, sitting on some patio. She dons a sun hat with a light breeze ruffling her hair.

“Hi, everyone! Thank you for sending me so many interesting questions to answer. Today, I’m going to answer one that really made me think.”

I roll my eyes, waiting for something superficial and self-indulgent that’s been representative of every post I’ve seen so far.

“This is from at applejacks925. What is your greatest fear?”

I scoff. _Losing all my sponsorships and realizing I have no real talent or skills to better the world._

The influencer turns away from the camera and tries to appear as if she’s pondering the question, playing it up for her millions of followers. She exhales one long sigh and then faces the camera.

“Falling in love,” she finally answers, her eyelashes fluttering. “I’m really afraid of falling in love. I think I’ve been in love before. Maybe.” She giggles. “But that true, romantic, head-over-heels, soulmate type of love is really really scary.”

_Really? Is her vocabulary this limited too?_

“I guess when I think about it, I mean really think about it, what’s really scary is allowing yourself to be vulnerable around another person. To actually trust someone to the extent that you are fully and completely open with them.”

Her tone begins to sound sincere.

“You all follow me and I share everything with you. But there’re some things I still keep to myself. Everyone does in a way, you know? And sometimes I wonder if there was that special person, someone I love more than anything and trust more than anyone, would I be able to share it with them easily? That’s what’s really scary. Would they still love and accept me if they knew things about me or saw me do something out of the ordinary? Or would they run away? Love is scary and finding someone who loves you is really hard. First of all, am I lovable? How do you know if they’re the one, for example? How do you learn to trust them with your life? How can something so strong be so real to so many people in this world?”

She gives a thoughtful smile to the camera. As she does, the image of Zyra enters my mind and begins to haunt it all over again.

“Well, I do hope I find someone who will know me better than I know myself. And I know a lot of you may also feel this way. So leave me a comment and let me know your thoughts. Are you afraid of falling in love? If you have experienced this all-consuming type of love, were you scared? How did it turn out? Please let me know!”

This type of love Ms. Monroe is describing doesn’t exist because there is no scientific basis for it. Love isn’t about soulmates or being all-consuming. Love is a practicality that comes with a partnership. It’s a trust between two people who find practical means to establish a relationship, such as compromise and commitment. There are feelings of appreciation, respect, and consideration, which are all built on the amount of time spent together. 

But for the briefest second, I begin to question this belief. _But this doesn’t address these new, unknown feelings for Zyra._

“And finally, if you’re looking for love, what would be the best lipstick to wear that will attract their attention?” Ms. Monroe holds up five sticks of different colors.

_And there it is._

I slam my laptop shut before the video even finishes. I slammed it first in annoyance at the manipulative play to advertise those products. And second in anger at myself for beginning to ponder what she was saying. 

_There’s no biological basis for soulmates._ _Something like love doesn’t make sense and everything has to make sense._ I then sigh. _But my feelings for Zyra don’t make sense._

My phone pings. When I turn it over, I see a text notification under two missed calls and a voicemail from Dad. I concede and swipe to open the text. It’s from Zyra. My chest immediately feels tight.

**_ZL: I got a flight back next Monday. I arrive at 9:20am. Can you still pick me up?_ **

I read her text multiple times, as I contemplate my response. I can’t tell her what has happened. Not yet. And definitely not through an impersonal text. 

**_ER: Yes._ **

* * *

The morning did not turn out as I had planned. And the events have been on replay in my mind all day.

I’ve just finished a long shower, but I haven’t been able to pull myself away from the mirror. I ignore the chill that settles against my bare, damp skin. I ignore the droplets that slowly stream down my face as they fall from my wet strands of hair. One begins to enter my eye, but I don’t blink or wipe it away. I just stare. The face that is currently looking back at me is unrecognizable. It is an image of a monster, a troublemaker, an insecure, fickle, temperamental jackass who only brings constant pain to the one person he never wanted to hurt. But it seems to be a pattern with this fucker. 

Today was the day I picked Zyra up from the airport. My plan was to prepare her for tomorrow by talking with her about Ms. Monroe. Because I still hold strong anger towards her, I practiced what to say during the drive there. I wanted to sound understanding, but also explain how betrayed I felt. I wanted to be honest with her about my feelings and the trust issues that her decision has created. But I also wanted to tell her that I still hold feelings for her and to ask her for some time for me to work through these feelings. 

But I couldn’t do that. And, understandably, she wouldn’t give me the opportunity to even explain myself. Why should she after the stark contrast in my behavior from how I greeted her at the airport to how I spoke to her in the car?

My anger got in the way, and all I did was say the wrong things and push her away again. But the worst part of it was how somber she sounded. It would have been better if she had yelled at me, but she never did. Not once. She was more disappointed in herself for falling again for this fickle asshole’s tricks. I don’t blame her. After everything that happened in Colorado between us, I’m sure she was expecting to come back to that same man. She almost did because the moment I saw her coming towards me on the escalator, I had forgotten her betrayal and my anger and my condition. And when I had the chance to hold her, I began to question if my anger towards her was even worth it. I wanted her closeness. I wanted to figure things out with her. I wanted to allow whatever feelings that happened between us in Colorado to continue. 

But once I let my mind wander, I couldn’t focus on the good. I could only focus on that damn condition. She betrayed me. That was the reality. In my mind, Colorado didn’t matter. What happened at the airport didn’t matter. What mattered was Gwenyth Monroe and Zyra Lewis. All I could do while driving her home was feel the anger return and me trying to do my best to keep it at bay and rationalize it. 

_Fact. I’m her boss. She’s my resident. That takes priority._

_Fact. Zyra did something that has made me question her trust._

_Fact. If I can’t trust her, I can’t try to understand or even explore these feelings for her._

_Fact. Everything has conditions, and Zyra has shown me hers._

But now, I regret it all. I regret going to Colorado because I did exactly what she accused me of: I disposed of her. If only I didn’t get the address from Trinh the night after I purchased the airplane ticket. If I didn’t have the address, I probably would have called the entire trip off. But I had to go to Donahue’s. I had to be on my phone trying to search for her parents’ address online at the exact moment Trinh approached the bar to order another drink. 

“Hi, Dr. Ramsey,” she greeted with that same jovial smile. 

I knew she was Zyra’s best friend. If there was one person who knew where Zyra was, Trinh would be that person. So as she waited for Reggie to get her drink, I asked her about Zyra.

“Oh, she’s doing as well as anyone would after losing a parent,” she explained, her sad gaze lowering.

“I wanted to send her family something as a condolence,” I lied. “Would you happen to know the address of her parents’ home?”

Trinh’s face lit up. She pulled out her phone and ranted on about Christmas and Christmas cards or something while she scrolled for the address in her contacts. I honestly wasn’t paying attention to her reasoning for having the address. She wrote it down on a napkin for me. As a thank you, I bought her drink. When I was left alone reading the address, I hoped Trinh wouldn’t disclose what I did. 

And now I know she never told Zyra because knowing the address was one of the first questions she asked when she saw me standing at the doorstep.

But that no longer matters. I had gone. I had gotten Zyra’s hopes up even after she had been so reluctant to accept me. And what did I do in return? Confirm her very fears. Again. And the worst part of it all, I did it when she lost a very important person in her life. She was already in pain and I turned the dial up even more.

I’m still looking back at my reflection. My eyes trace along the beard on my face. Zyra always admired it, and because of that I had kept it for her. Perhaps that in itself is evidence enough of how important she—and her opinion—is to me. But it’s also the beard that belongs to the face of a man who doesn’t deserve her or her trust. She shouldn’t have let me off the hook.

 _So I’ll give you what you want. Erase and reset, right? Colorado never happened_ _._

All this time I’ve been angry at her and feeling her to be untrustworthy when the fact is that I have been the untrustworthy one all along. I’ve shown Zyra one condition after another, while she was only doing her job and doing what I had taught her: patients come first. She also acted how I would, going against administration when she knew they were wrong. In this case, I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I took it too personally and that was due to my own ego and pride. 

I’ve been too stubborn and afraid to go outside my principles again due to the outcome with the contract between the team and Declan. And that fear has gotten in the way of the fight for our patients and now of my relationship with Zyra, both professionally and personally. She puts so much faith in others, but she misplaced her faith in me. And that wasn’t on her. It was on me. 

But the most frustrating aspect of all of this is that I understand why she did it. The same reason she did everything she could for Mrs. Martinez. Deep down, I already knew. I could already predict Zyra’s behavior the moment I had told her _no_. She’s a fighter and will fight for our patients to the very end, even if we may disagree on the methods. So in my mind, I believed she had betrayed me. But she didn’t. She saw an opportunity and she took it. And it’s something I would have done if I wasn’t so afraid of failing Naveen again. I gripe about how others who I used to be close to have changed, like Harper and Tobias, but I fail to acknowledge my own changes that have led to these conflicts.

All I do is fail the people I give a damn about. I failed Naveen. I failed Zyra. And I’m failing Dad, whom I’m still avoiding.

I am the type of person that she accused me to be: A coward. And after everything I’ve done to her, I don’t understand how she never swore me off earlier. I selfishly needed to keep her in my life even if it meant taking control of the situation and showing up in Colorado without her knowledge. Even if it meant leading her on with our mild flirtations, while I still was conflicted about how to understand what exactly I’ve been feeling for her. Even if it meant opening up to her about my parents and letting her be there for me. She was right again, though. I took her for granted and used her because I was afraid of losing her. But after what occurred today, I’ve lost her for good. There’s no going back and trying to make amends to the point of starting over. We’ve started over one too many times instead of having a real conversation about what the hell was actually going on between us. 

How can I look in the mirror every day and accept that I have afflicted additional pain to the one person I…? Even as I ask myself this question, I still can’t even define how Zyra means to me. All I know is that she was so damn important.

I’m rational. But I end up doing an irrational thing. 

I pull out my clippers and begin to shave it all off, hoping to erase the face of a monster.

* * *

####  _WITHHOLD_

I’ve been cursing under my breath all day. Not only have I’ve been frustrated due to the lack of knowledge about Zyra’s current situation and worrying relentlessly about her, but now I have to contend with the very fact that the same woman has betrayed me. 

I try to drown out the distraction as I make my rounds updating my patients. Ms. Monroe is last. I still have yet to find a diagnosis for her symptoms, but Mirani has been assisting me with making a log of her product history. We are hoping that the reason has to do with an unknown poisoning. That’s a theory I plan to explain to her. But once I enter her room, she’s turned over on her side away from the door. I can hear her sniffling. I also hear the click of her phone’s camera shuttering. 

There are no cameras, as I had requested, due to hospital policy and patient privacy. The last thing this hospital needs is to be sued by an unsuspecting patient caught on camera and streamed for the world to see. But that doesn’t keep her from documenting with her phone. 

I do not approach further inside, but turn around on my heels and head straight for the nurse’s station. I grab a box of tissues, return to the room, and pull up a chair next to Ms. Monroe’s bedside. She turns over onto her back and meets me with eyes full of tears. A glum smile falls across her lips as she begins wiping at her eyes.

“Hi, Dr. Ramsey,” she greets while still sniffling. I hold out the box of tissues towards her. She grabs a few and begins dabbing her eyes and nose. “Thanks. You’re very kind.”

“Hello, Ms. Monroe. I would ask how you’re feeling, but I believe I can make an accurate assumption,” I state sympathetically.

“I’m just really scared,” she says while blowing her nose. Shen then tries to relax, holding her ball of tissue in her hand. I pick up the trash can at her bedside and let her toss it in. 

“I understand, Ms. Monroe. Having an undiagnosable illness can be quite frightening, but I assure you that you are in good hands.”

She looks at me a bit more hopefully. “Dr. Lewis did say Edenbrook had the most renowned diagnosticians in the country. It’s why I came here.”

Just hearing Zyra’s name alone brings an unsettling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Even my mouth becomes dry at the thought of her.

“She was correct,” I say, keeping my tone stable and professional. 

“Where is she? I thought she would be the one to help me personally.” 

My brow furrows and I lean forward in the chair. “She had an emergency. I apologize.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?” Her eyes grow big and round as she waits for my response. 

“Yes.” It’s the only answer I can give without disclosing Zyra’s personal information. But even so, I feel my jaw clench at wanting my own answer to Ms. Monroe’s question. 

“That’s good then.” I see her cheeks immediately turn red. “Anyway, it’s not every day you get to be taken care of by a really hot doctor. It would’ve been really cool to show all my followers how hot the doctors are here.”

This woman appears to have no filter. After what I witnessed when I first met her and after reviewing her social media posts, she’s prone to an overabundance of self-disclosure even when there is no camera present. 

“Ms. Monroe, please realize that the care you are receiving is based on decades of training and experience from some of the top doctors in this country. Our appearance has no basis on the outcome of your care.”

“Wow. Very serious, too.” She nearly begins to laugh but then catches herself. Her amused expression drops. “I’m just trying to find something to distract myself from my fears. I’m sorry.”

 _I understand. I can actually relate._ “There’s nothing to apologize for, Ms. Monroe.” My mouth quirks up into a friendly smile reserved for my patients. “You do what you feel can help.”

She heaves a sigh. “It’s hard because I don’t have my cameras. I know you said you didn’t want them in here, and I get it. But as you can see, I don’t have anyone here. My followers, well, they’re my people. Wouldn’t you want your people beside you when you’re scared?” 

Her glossy eyes meet mine and it looks as if she’s about to cry again. But I contemplate her question before answering. “I actually went through a very scary situation last year. And I did have someone there with me.”

“Did it make you feel better?”

“It did.”

 _I’m here._ Zyra would usually say as she placed her hand on top of mine. Unconsciously, I begin to rub my thumb across my knuckles.

“I’ll tell you what, you can have your cameras in here under one condition.” I see her perk up in her bed. “Keep them on you. Don’t point them out into the hallway or in my direction. For any nurse or a doctor from my team, ask for their permission first.”

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Ramsey!” She immediately picks up her phone and takes a selfie. Then she types something. I observe her and begin to question if I made the right decision. “I’m just letting my followers know. One sec.” 

_Of course._ I will never understand the popularity of so-called social media influencers and their obsession with recognition and fame. It goes against everything that I believe in because I do not do the work I do for the recognition and fame. My priority is in helping others, so how do these influencers actually help people? If Zyra were here, she would probably challenge my beliefs and explain some of the positive outcomes of influencers. That’s the type of woman she is. She’s able to find the positive in almost everything. I can’t help but feel a melancholy longing for her and for the way she challenges me. Then I realize—

 _I miss her._

Ms. Monroe shows me the post, which snaps me out of my thoughts. All I do is nod and then change the subject to the matter at hand.

We talk some more with me explaining my theory to her, which only makes her even more afraid. After reassuring her, I leave, order some toxicology tests, and return to my office. 

I see Mirani still at work, but there’s another person sitting at the table with him. They’re conversing about something, and when I enter, the last thing I hear is Mirani asking, “Ethan did what?” They both laugh, but stop once they notice my entrance.

“Dad?” 

“Hi, Ethan,” he greets as he stands up. But he doesn’t move.

I’ve been ignoring Dad’s calls for weeks ever since he told me Mom wants to see me. I want nothing to do with that woman who left us when I was 11. And I don’t trust her intentions. All I know is she probably wants money from me. But Dad has never stopped loving her, even though she broke him. And I’ve always resented him for it because I could never understand why he could still love her after everything she had done to not only him but also to me. That woman has no right to show up in our lives whenever she wants, trying to have us at her beck and call. But Dad has always been willing to take her calls. I know he would take her back if he could, but she is nothing more to me than a stranger, and I want to keep it that way. 

“I’m going to go grab lunch. I’ll continue this when I get back. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Ramsey.” Mirani waves at Dad and then leaves, giving us the office to ourselves.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” Dad states once we’re finally alone. 

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I sit down in the seat next to him. He returns to sitting. “I’ve been overwhelmed with work.”

“Is that all?” Dad gives me a worried look.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “No,” I begin to confess. “I’ve been avoiding you.” I see how hurt Dad’s expression turns. 

Dad is quiet for a moment, his head lowered in contemplation. “I always knew you were still angry, but I thought it was with her, not with me.”

I’m not ready to have this conversation. His words arise within me my own shame and I get up and walk over to brew a cup of coffee. “Want one?” 

“Ethan…” Dad sighs. “This isn’t the first time you’ve avoided something.”

I freeze, my hand stilling on a mug. “Dad.” It’s as if my voice has turned into my 11-year-old self. 

“What’s really going on?”

Dad came all this way to see me because I couldn’t pick up the damn phone. Now I have no choice but to finally be honest with him about how I feel. But I don’t know where to start. I’ve been avoiding this conversation for most of my life, and now that I’m faced with it, the idea of finally being forced to answer, to be honest with my father, scares me.

I drop my hand, leaving the coffee behind and return to sit next to Dad. I drum my fingers against the table, unable to make eye contact with him. “Dad, I…” I finally look up to meet his gaze, his eyes readying for an answer. “I just can’t understand how you could still love her after everything she did to us.”

_I don’t think you have to. It’s your dad’s heart. He gets to take as long as he needs to heal, even if that’s forever._

And there she is like clockwork. My mind recalls the words she told me after confiding in her about my feelings towards Dad. She always gave me an additional perspective to consider, but this one is too difficult for me to even understand. My mother left us. That was the condition for me to never want to see her again. But for Dad, how could her leaving not be a condition? How can she hurt him and humiliate him and he still claims to love her? 

“Love is complicated, Ethan. I thought you’d know that by now.” Dad places his hand on top of mine and pats it. 

Love? I frown, unsure of what he just stated. He doesn’t know I’ve never been in love because I don’t believe in it. I’ve dated numerous women before, but Harper was the first real long-term relationship I’ve had. And it was more in a practical sense. We complimented each other in many ways. We admired one another and appreciated each other’s companionship. But we were also mature enough to realize when it didn’t work. And that was due to the respect we had for each other. But the type of love Dad is referring to is not what I’ve experienced. And with Mom leaving him, it is further evidence that it does not exist. I’m not about to go into detail about my beliefs on love. Not now. He wouldn’t understand.

I shake my head. “Dad, I guess I just wanted to matter.”

“What do you mean?”

I exhale sharply, collecting my thoughts. “Because you still loved mom, it made me feel as if what she did to me didn’t matter to you. And so, I’ve felt I didn’t matter to you.”

My gaze flicks towards Dad, but it refuses to settle. But what I see on his face is an anguished shock. His mouth is agape, as if unable to speak the words to respond to my admission.

“Ethan, I had no idea you felt that way. I honestly thought we got along well for two guys who didn’t have much in common.” 

“Well, I… think it’s put a distance between us. I’ve felt I haven’t been able to get to know you because of it.” 

“Because I still love you mother?” His voice begins to break.

I lower my head and nod.

“Can I be honest with you too, son?” I raise my head, meeting Dad’s gaze. “I’ve noticed that you do this with a lot of your relationships.”

I furrow my brow. “What?”

“You tend to find something that keeps you away from them. Tobias, for example.”

“Tobias wouldn’t grow up.” I scoff loudly. “He constantly had to make everything a competition instead of focusing on what matters.” My voice is tinged with irritation. 

“Well, that’s how _he_ approaches things. Not everyone approaches things the way you do. I think you sometimes forget that.” 

“Dad, it’s not my fault he can’t let go of a grudge. And it’s something I’ve made peace with a long time ago.”

“I see. But all I’m trying to say is, maybe people change and you should be open to that. You can’t resent people to the point of ruining a relationship because they made a mistake.”

“Mom leaving us was not a mistake.” 

I hear the door slide open and Hirata enters. She pauses at the doorway.

“It’s fine, Hirata.” I wave her in and then stand and turn to Dad. “Can we continue this conversation later? I’m still coming this weekend. I’ll make sure to bring those treats Jenner likes.” I don’t want to leave things tense between us.

After walking him out, I return to my desk, scrolling through Ms. Monroe’s Pictogram feed to continue the log. Hirata is working on another case on the whiteboard.

_You can’t resent people to the point of ruining a relationship because they made a mistake._

Dad’s words are the only thing my mind lingers on as I type information into the spreadsheet. He wouldn’t understand about Tobias and how I even tried to reach out. And my mother… But it’s not on Tobias or on my mother where the words have a lasting effect. All my mind can focus on is Zyra and how whatever type of relationship we had has been left in millions of broken pieces of unsaid words and unresolved feelings. 

Have my conditions damaged my relationships? Am I now doing the same with Zyra? 

Any anger I feel towards her is now swallowed by guilt. If I truly believed that Zyra had betrayed me, I am as much of a coward as she claimed me to be. I know that woman. I know who she is as a doctor. Of course it would make sense for her to find a solution to our budget issue if it meant sacrificing some principles to prolong our services for the people who have nowhere else to turn. That is who she is, and I’ve been acting like a spoiled child because she was right all along. 

Our relationship is already engulfed in flames. If I hold this condition against her, then there is no chance of trying to put out the fire and save the foundation. And if I truly understand her actions, there is no true condition, and I can extinguish the flames before they burn everything we’ve built to unusable ash. But even if there were a condition, do I even want to risk losing her more than I already have? Could I make an exception to my rule just for her?

The last relationship I tried saving was with Tobias. He was once important to me in a much different way. The dissolution of our friendship was on both of us. But he refused any reconciliation. If I tried reconciling with Zyra, would she do the same thing and reject me? In this case, our current dissolution is all on me, but I have this fear that her rejection and losing her would hurt more because I…

“Ethan, are you OK?” Hirata asks. “You’re pounding on your keyboard pretty hard.”

I look at her confused expression and nod. “I’m fine.”

* * *

It’s the first night I’ve been back in my apartment since Zyra had left. When I flip on the lightswitch, I look around, and the emptiness of the apartment is unsettling. I immediately head to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of scotch. I would have made my regular visit to Donahue’s, but once I saw Zyra sitting in a booth with some of the other residents, I decided to leave. I didn’t want to cause a distraction. Or perhaps that was too presumptuous of me to think.

She had returned today. Naveen told me yesterday, which I felt was late notice, but between Mirani (Zaid) and myself, we were able to catch her up on her work and schedule. But the Zyra who returned was not the Zyra I remembered seeing that day she stormed out of my office, leaving me with increased blood pressure and even more uncertainty than I had prior.

The moment I saw her through the glass door, I froze. She looked so frail and malnourished. Even her white coat hung too large off her body. Her complexion looked a shade lighter. Her cheeks were sunken, her hair longer and straighter. I could see that she had lost some hair, too, and she was trying to hide it with the ponytail. 

_What happened to you?_

I then realized I also probably looked worse for wear to her. I didn’t want her to know my overwhelming worry for her had kept me from going home at night. That trying to distract myself with work was the only way to try to make it through the days without her and without knowing what had become of her. It was the only way I knew to avoid my lingering, destabilizing concern. Even Naveen didn’t know much. Her emails to him were brief and focused more on the job.

But seeing her this morning gave me all the information I needed. She has not been taking the loss of her father well. And I don’t blame her. I quit and nearly wanted to drink myself to death when I _believed_ Naveen was dying. But to actually lose Naveen or even my own dad, I couldn’t even imagine what Zyra has been going through this past week. And a large part of me wishes I could have been there at her side to support her. If I had gone to Colorado, would it have made a difference? 

But that no longer mattered. What mattered was the woman waiting for me to let her into the office. Once I did, I hesitated at the door because I was debating whether to embrace her, hoping it would help, or to let things remain as they were, awkward and uncertain. 

Even though she may have appeared different, her witty banter proved that the same woman was still there. That alone helped ease the physical tension in my muscles and the emotional tension that hung in the air between us. I had left her there alone in the office, not only to clean myself up, but to figure out how to approach our reunion. I hadn’t slept well the night before. The anticipation of seeing Zyra again kept me up. Also, my back ached from that damn couch. Even now it still does. I can feel the strain as I’m leaning forward against the kitchen island. But the scotch should kick in soon.

Because I couldn’t help her, I thought I could be there for her then. The beef jerky. The coffee. The condolences. But she didn’t want to elaborate, which I understood, so I did not fish around for anything. I waited. Our conversation was more amiable than I thought and I resisted reaching out to her. It was what had set the fire in the first place. But I hadn’t expect her to reach out to me, and for that moment, things between us seemed to have gone in reverse, as if the entire argument never happened. But we’ll have to talk about it at some point, if I want to fix things between us. 

I was nervous on bringing up the issue about Ms. Monroe, but once I began speaking, no anger towards Zyra or the situation remained. In its place was appreciation for her decision and for her. Having her back, even though part of her was still hesitant towards me, made me realize one thing: I’ve now begun to see her in a truer light. 

I meant what I said that she was my equal. 

_She’s my equal in more ways than I realized._

I smile against the rim of my glass as I finish the last of my scotch. 

For the first time, I have finally been able to describe my feelings for her, and it doesn’t frighten me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue between Ethan and his father was taken from Book 2, Chapter 8.


	12. The Breakdown (CALL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra’s always been the brave, strong, no-holds-barred fighter for everything and everyone in her life. But even she has a breaking point when everything around her continues to fall apart.

A file shakes in my hand. But the subtleness helps me keep it hidden.

It’s been harder to ignore the tremor in my right hand but not too challenging to hide. A clench of the fist. A slip under my arm or in my pocket. A grasp at my wrist. A mental recitation of my mantra. 

Thankfully, it hasn’t come at a time when I have had to be physical with my patients, especially during my clinic rounds. I’m sure a parent wouldn’t appreciate my causing further harm to their child as I pull a Lego block from their nasal cavity. I’ve been lucky.

_So far anyway._

But I’m certain there’s one person who is keen on it, even though he hasn’t brought it up. Just the thought of him makes my sorrow shred my insides. 

It’s not something for me to be proud of, but ignoring it is necessary in order for me to manage all of my priorities. 

_I can deal with it later. There are more important things for me to consider._

Though, it has gotten worse since I’ve returned to Boston. Its unpredictableness does cause me some worry. It chooses when to happen without my consent and the severity of the shaking is never the same. But I’m not clueless to the cause. With one disheartening milestone piling up one after another, it was inevitable. 

Each new burden has begun to feel like an additional weight stacked on top of my chest, with each one incrementally increasing in pounds. My father’s death currently weighing the most. The heft of it all is slowly crushing my bones and rupturing my lungs and heart. At this rate, all my air and blood supply will be cut off, and I…

_Maybe it would be better if everything just slowly faded away._

I shake the thought out of my head. 

There are people counting on me right now. I can’t disregard their needs. And one of those persons is standing right before me.

I hand my intern the file and observe her as she skims over the information inside. 

“How would you proceed?” I ask her.

“I would guess it’s related to a heart condition,” Esme finally responds. 

“And what evidence leads you to this conclusion?” My teacher-mode is in place.

“Well,” she begins, looking back down at the file, “the shortness of breath and fatigue. There’s also the swollen feet and ankles.” She catches and holds my gaze, appearing confident in her next choice of words. “I would first speak with the patient and listen to them, as you’ve taught me. See if there are any clues in their story related to their illness. Then, I’d check for a murmur based on these symptoms.”

“And if there is one, what would you do next?” I begin feeling a bit light-headed when I ask the question, but I ignore it.

“Order a chest x-ray?” 

“Are you asking me, or are you certain?”

“Certain. I would order the chest x-ray.” The confidence in her voice returns. 

“Good,” I smile widely, giving her a thumbs up. 

My pager then goes off, and I try to conceal my disappointment. “I’ll come back and check on you and the patient. But um, if you need me before then, just, um…” I narrow my eyes, almost squinting as the words to complete my sentence do not flow out easily. In fact, it’s as if my mind has hit a locked door, barring me access from all of my vocabulary and knowledge.

“Page you?” My intern asks.

I snap my fingers and point to her. “Yes, that.”

“Is everything okay?” She wrinkled her brow. “I know with your father passing and all—”

“I’m fine, Esme,” I cut her off. “I think you have a patient who needs you right now.” 

I head in the direction of the source of the page—Ethan. 

We haven’t spoken outside of work-related topics since I got back. In the past, I would have yelled or screamed at him, berating him and questioning his behavior. I also would have confided in him in times of need. That’s been our push-pull relationship, but it’s a relationship that no longer works for me and only creates more heartache in the process. 

I’m not angry with him, which I should be. I’m just… trying to figure everything out right now. And this includes my feelings for him. I know he’s no good for me. I know that. But I haven’t yet been able to convince myself of it. 

But even so, I’ve been trying to keep my distance because being around him too often hasn’t helped. I only go to his office when necessary—attending team meetings, asking questions and looking for guidance related to patient cases (letting him be my mentor), and responding to pages, like now. 

When we are in the same room alone, I feel he’s trying to maintain a neutrality between us too. But I feel he’s still angry with me about the whole Gwenyth thing. The softness in his eyes when he would look at me has all but vanished, much like his beard. It isn’t even only that. It’s that I can’t read him anymore. He has appeared to have rebuilt his walls around himself with me. Thus, the brilliant, trustworthy, thoughtful, caring, and sometimes insecure Ethan I once knew—and loved—is gone. All that is left is the hardass Dr. Ramsey I met on the first day of my internship. And that was a man who scared me and pissed me off at the same time. 

But I also loved that about him too.

I shouldn’t be surprised though. If there is one thing I have the most clarity about this man is that he’s a known wall builder when he has difficulty dealing with his feelings of any kind. It’s why he went to the Amazon for those two months and never even bothered to contact me. It’s also probably why he’s using the whole Gwenyth incident to keep from being close to me. It’s why even now, he’s hiding whatever he’s feeling behind a wall where the mortar has not yet fully dried. Once it does, I’ll be blocked for good. 

_And that’ll be the best for both of us._

When I enter the office, he’s sitting behind his desk, buried deep in paperwork. He looks up at me through his glasses and motions towards the chair in front of his desk. He doesn’t say a word while I approach and take a seat. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence lingering in the air, but the unfortunate thing is that I’ve become used to it. It phased me at first, as I worried over what was going through his mind, believing he was cursing at our entire situation, mainly at me, and regretting placing me at Edenbrook in the first place. 

I observe him as he writes something down in a file and then slides it towards me.

“You’ll be working with Hirata on this new intake.”

I reach out for the file, but I fumble it. I make a quick recovery and settle it on my lap. I clench my hand into a fist, hiding it under the file and hoping he hadn’t noticed. 

“Edward Thorton III,” I read, trying not to look up at my boss. 

“You wanted wealthy patients. Here’s our next intake.”

_Says the rich doctor with his own box at the opera._

The words don’t sound angry in my head. Just matter-of-factly. 

“Yes. And it’s been working so far.” My neutral gaze locks on his. “You’re welcome, Dr. Ramsey.” 

I do not regret my actions because even though we are taking in more wealthy patients, we still have a team. And that is all that truly matters right now. Sometimes Ethan’s own stubbornness related to not deterring away from his strict worldview keeps him from considering options that are in our control. And this was one of them. 

His face is completely blank. It doesn’t even harden like it would normally do when confronted with one of my challenges. Even the crystal blue of his eyes don’t flicker icy or cold, or darken to a more stormy grey. This neutralness between us is more unnerving than if I could see something flash in his eyes or across his face. At least I’d have some indication on how he’s feeling, and I could leave with some personal satisfaction that he hasn’t fully dismissed me. 

I close the file and stand up. “I’ll get on this.” 

“Lewis.” I stop at the sound of my name. “One more thing. Tremors. Sweating. Dry Mouth. Difficulty breathing. Excess anxiety. Increased anger or frustration. Mood swings—”

I turn to face him and see that he has moved to the front of his desk with his arms crossed. But his expression is as unreadable as before. 

“Stop.” It’s the same ‘game’ we’ve played before, but this time it has a different purpose. “I’m fine.”

“Zyra.” The returned tenderness in the sound of my _first_ name jolts me for a second and I feel an additional weight settle on my heart. 

He jerks his head towards my right hand. 

“I said I’m fine.” I unconsciously grip my wrist. 

“As your boss, I have a responsibility for the safety of both you and the patients.” The neutral tone of Dr. Ramsey has returned. “If you are not well, you cannot expect to be at your best when taking care of your patients. And if this continues, I will be forced to take you off of cases until—”

“Dr. Ramsey, I have to go.”

I hold my breath as I leave. I don’t even look back. Instead, I open the file and pretend to read it as I walk out into the corridor towards the elevator. Once inside, I exhale so forcefully my lungs burn. 

I find June with our patient, Mr. Thorton. They seem to be getting along because I hear laughter when I walk in.

“There she is. This is my colleague, Dr. Lewis.”

“Pleasure, Mr. Thorton.” I notice him giving me a one-over when I come to shake his hand. I feel an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. 

“Eddie is fine.” He squeezes my hand and flashes me a set of pearly whites along with a wink. As I pull my hand away, his grip still lingers. I cringe, inwardly.

We take our time speaking with him and going over his symptoms. Being a trust fund kid and 25, he has traveled all over but had recently spent time parasailing, scuba diving, and jet skiing in Bora Bora. 

During our conversation, we ask him questions. When it’s my turn to ask, I blink my eyes and look around the room. June and Eddie watch me expectantly. 

“Um.” I flip through the chart, trying to recall the question that I had just remembered having when Eddie mentioned something about… swimming? No. Eating some local fish? Both? But as I search my mind, I’m left with nothing but me knocking frantically on locked doors. None of them open for me. My mind has gone blank. Even when I look at the information in the chart, the words hold no meaning like a foreign language I’ve never studied.

“Well, that is all the questions we have for now.” June keeps her smile, but the look she gives me holds nothing of that same cordiality for our patient. “We will order some blood work and take it from there.”

When we leave the room, June pulls me off to the side.

“What was that in there?”

“I just forgot what I was going to say.”

“That’s out of character for you. You’re always on top of everything. Are you okay? Do you need to talk about what you’re going through because—”

“I’m fine, June. I just had a moment. It won’t happen again.”

During our entire exchange, she has had a grip on my arm. She finally lets go. 

“I’ll go order those blood tests.”

“No. I’ll do it,” she says skeptically.

* * *

I take her hand and gently hold it. I wipe away a few of my tears with my other hand. I see her chest slowly moving up and down due to the ventilator that is helping her breathe. 

I didn’t know Kyra had decided to have surgery. I only knew that she had decided to just let the cancer run its course. It was something I had tried to convince her to continue fighting, but in the end, the final decision was hers. 

Bryce was the one who propositioned the surgery and convinced the leading thoracic surgeon to take up her case. 

She had made the decision to do the surgery while I was gone. According to Bryce, the surgery was a success. 

And also while I was gone, she hadn’t woken up from the anesthesia. But the possibility of her coming out of this after a week is lower than the rate of surviving the experimental surgery. 

I understand why my friends didn’t tell me. I had a lot on my plate already back at home, but it still hurts not having known. If this situation with Kyra is any indication of these past few weeks, then I’m as helpless as not being able to be there for Papa. If I had visited my parents more often, perhaps I could have seen the signs of what caused my papa’s death and could have prevented it from happening. And just like with Papa, if I had been here, perhaps I could have done something to help Kyra.

But I was neither here nor there and two people that I love are gone. I will never have the chance to see one of them ever again, while the other’s life hangs in an uncertain limbo. The only thing I can do is sit here and keep her company, which is all I’ve been doing when I can find a break from work.

I speak to her, telling her everything that has happened with my family. But then I feel guilty for the disclosure because she’s the one fighting for her life now. So I turn my one-sided conversation to something more uplifting: Talking about what she’s going to do once she wakes up, heals, and is officially cancer free. I recommend a road trip to New York or Niagara Falls in celebration. 

I continue talking because I believe that she can hear me. And hopefully my being here will help her return to us. I have to believe that she’ll survive this because I selfishly can’t lose anyone else in my life right now. 

I hear footsteps enter the room and turn around, expecting to see Bryce or a nurse. But it’s neither. It’s Dr. Victor Fitzgerald, the surgeon whom Bryce worked with on Kyra’s surgery. 

“Ah, Dr. Lewis. I wasn’t expecting to see you in here,” he states emotionlessly. 

He doesn’t look at me as he checks my friend’s vitals and notes them in her chart. His stoic demeanor sends a slight chill into the air. My arms are now covered with goosebumps. 

“Given your notoriety with causing Mrs. Martinez’s death, perhaps you should stay clear of my patient.” The only thing that moves is the pen in his hand against the paper. His eyes never dart to mine to emphasize his warning, but the calm and nearly spiteful tone in his words alone are enough. 

I feel a pang in my chest.

“That is uncalled for, Dr. Fitzgerald,” I spit out, nearly rising from my seat.

“You may have the higher ups all wrapped around your little finger, especially Dr. Ramsey and the Chief, but you don’t fool me. If it had been me, I would have made sure you never practiced medicine in this state, this country, or anywhere else in the world.” He finally looks at me. His eyes are dark and chilling. My goosebumps linger. 

“Well, it wasn’t up to you.” I try to stand my ground, unsuccessfully.

“True. But in my assessment, Dr. Lewis, our patients should be protected from self-entitled physicians like yourself, who believe their actions hold no consequences.”

“That’s not true. I—” Usually I would have a wittier comeback, something that would show him I’m not intimidated or threatened by his obvious distrust and dislike of me. But for the first time, I don’t have it in me to even try to defend myself. I press a hand to my throat, feeling defeated.

“Oh, it isn’t?” He walks around to the other side of the bed, composedly checking the readings on his patient’s machines. “Well, with you obtaining a prestigious position as a junior fellow on Dr. Ramsey’s diagnostics team, that to me doesn’t sound like dealing with the consequences of your actions at all. It sounds like you were more rewarded for them and the higher ups were nothing but complicit.” He takes some more notes, pausing. Then he closes the chart and slips his pen back into his pocket as if our interaction held no true threat to him. “I’m actually more surprised Dr. Emery even had your back.”

He continues examining Kyra. “Oh, and if you plan to go and tattle to Ramsey about this, go ahead. I can hold myself against that egomaniac. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to physically examine _my_ patient.” 

My body locks in rage at the insult towards Ethan. I want nothing more than to do what I and Ethan once did to Declan, sock him a good one.

The doctor is standing over Kyra, but his hard, cold stare is directed toward me. That same lightheadedness from earlier has returned, but also like last time, I ignore it. But the only defiant thing I can do is squeeze my dear friend’s hand before I turn for the door. 

“Good day, Dr. Lewis.” He waves dismissively at me. 

I know there is still a segment of doctors who didn’t agree with the Board’s decision in regards to my actions. But it’s the first time I’ve heard one of their perspectives directly to my face and not behind my back. 

The terrifying part is that there’s a part of me that agrees with some of the things he accused me of. Besides the guilt, what consequences have I truly faced? 

I rush out the door, but slam into someone. I look up and see Bryce, his hands are holding my upper arms, keeping me close to him.

“Whoa, you okay there?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just seeing Kyra, you know,” I half lie. I suddenly feel numb all over and can hardly move.

“Yeah.” His arms wrap around me, holding me against his chest. I feel him rub my back. His head dips to whisper into my ear. “It’ll be okay, Zyra.” 

I nod into his chest all while fighting back tears. I then look over his shoulder and see Ethan watching us from the nurses’ station. He looks away, hands the nurse a document, and then disappears around the corner in the opposite direction.

* * *

My shift is over and I choose not to linger around the hospital. I also don’t feel the need to return to my apartment yet. Instead, I make a detour to Donahue’s. The place is half full for a weeknight, but I don’t see any of my friends or Ethan. I order myself a beer and a basket of fries and find a spot outside at one of the tables in the beer garden next to a firepit. From my bag, I pull out the recent issue of the _American Journal of Medicine_ and try to drown myself in medical research, carbs, and alcohol. 

Halfway through my reading, my phone pings with a text from Elliot. 

**_EL: How’s mama?_ **

I want to quickly tell him to try calling her himself, but considering the situation, that would come off as cruel and insensitive. I’ve been the mediator between them for weeks, but I honestly don’t know what I can say or do to get them to at least talk to each other. 

**_ZL: Same. Jacob needs help though. We can’t have him being the one taking care of her._ **

I wait for a response, staring at my screen. I see the three dots appear and then suddenly disappear without even a word of a reply. I frown in disappointment and drop my phone to the table. I try to return my attention to an article about spontaneous retroperitoneal hemorrhaging in dermatomyositis, but each word becomes a grey blur.

“Hey, Zyra.” I look up and see Sienna, smiling widely as she places a beer down on the table and takes a seat across from me.

“Hey, you. Where’s everyone else?” I ask.

“Oh, they’re inside playing pool. You know how the pool table is rarely free, so they’re taking advantage of it. I think it’s a Bryce/Rafael versus Elijah/Jackie smackdown going on in there. I saw you out here and thought I’d keep you company instead of refereeing a game I have no clue about.” She giggles as she casually steals one of my fries.

“You could just be a cheerleader then.” I match her light-hearted giggling, but it comes out as forced and unintentionally mocking. 

“You know I can’t choose sides with my friends.” She grabs another fry, but I can tell she’s taken back due to the small crinkle between her eyebrows. “How are you holding up?” she asks, changing the subject.

I look down at the pages in the journal. There’s too much going on for my brain to process. It’s why I wanted to spend the evening alone. I begin to play with the corner of one of the pages, folding and unfolding it. 

“I wish you had told me about Kyra,” I admit without looking at her. 

“I’m sorry. We thought it would make it easier for you to find out when you came back.” She holds her beer between both hands, staring into the white froth at the top. 

My mouth opens as I plan to disclose the exchange with Dr. Fitzgerald from earlier, but something else comes out instead. It’s something that has been in the back of my mind, but I haven’t been able to ask because of fearing the truth behind the answer.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Ethan?” My eyes flick to hers as I wait for a response. Her own eyes widen and then narrow in a sense of regret as she takes a sip of her beer.

“I didn’t know he was going to actually go there.”

“That’s not the point.” My annoyance begins to flare. “You had no right to give him my parents’ address.”

“You know I’ve been rooting for you two because I know how much he means to you. And from what you tell me, you mean a lot to him too.” She holds my gaze, sympathetically. 

I take a sharp intake of breath. “Again. That. Is. Not. The. Point. Do you have any idea the additional complications it’s caused?”

“Zyra, I’m sorry, but he honestly seemed really worried about you. What was I supposed to do?”

“Tell him no.”

“I couldn’t do that. He wanted to send his condolences.”

“Are you telling me he lied to you?”

“Well, now that I think about it, he was probably telling me a half-truth. He did send his condolences in person.”

“God, Sienna, you still don’t get it.” I can feel my pulse slamming in my neck. “If you hadn’t given him the address, I probably wouldn’t be in the mess I am now with him.”

“Hold up! Don’t blame this on me.” Her heated tone now begins to match my own. “I was just trying to help. You are the two who can’t seem to get your acts together. Perhaps you should look at the real cause here. And this wasn’t it.”

“Don’t start.”

“No, Zyra.” She points a finger at me. “I know you’re hurting right now. I know you’re going through so much in such a short amount of time. But don’t you dare project your anger towards Dr. Ramsey onto me. I’ve been nothing but a good friend to you. I’ve always had your back. But right now, I just don’t know how to talk to this Zyra, even though I just want to be here for her as a friend.” 

Sienna gets up and grabs her drink. Due to the force, a little bit of the liquid spills over the rim and splashes onto the table top.

“I think I’m going to take your advice and cheer my friends on inside,” she tells me angrily.

I feel my pulse speed faster. I slam the journal closed. I pull my hand to my face, sucking on the newly formed paper cut on my thumb.

* * *

“You okay?” Aurora asks as I enter the apartment. She’s sitting at the dining table surrounded by a stack of books and her laptop. 

“Yeah.” It’s all I can muster to say. I begin to hastily rip off my scarf and jacket. “It’s just hot.”

My roommate raises an eyebrow at me. “It’s like 50 degrees outside.” She then slides a bowl across the table towards me. “Want some gelato? It should help.”

I make my way to the table. When I sit, I take a spoonful of the cold treat and sigh with brief content. “This does help. What’s this? Pistachio?”

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to try out the new gelato place by Mass Kenmore.” 

“Good call.” 

We continue sharing the gelato in silence. She flips through pages in books and types on her laptop. I stare out towards the city view from our apartment and lick the spoon until my mouth is filled with nothing but a metallic taste. 

When I go to scoop another bite, I motion towards the crowded table. “How’s that going for you by the way? Being at Mass Kenmore, I mean?”

“It feels right being there, you know?”

“Because of Tobias?” I smile and wink at her as I take another bite of the gelato. 

Aurora blushes slightly. “No.”

_Based on what Ethan has told me and from my personal experiences with the man, you’d be too good for him anyway._

She goes back to flipping through some pages in a textbook as she continues talking. “But I think I’m mature enough to realize not to get involved with an attending.” 

I drop my spoon in the bowl. It makes a loud clink. 

“Anyway, it all probably won’t matter.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“There’s rumors going around the hospital that Mass Kenmore and Edenbrook are going to merge because of the budget cuts.”

“What?”

“It’s just a rumor.” Aurora shrugs. 

“Wow.” I lean back in the chair and run the back of my hand across my forehead. I feel droplets of sweat wipe against it. “Will any of this end? It just feels like one bad thing after another.”

“I know, Zyra. I’m sorry.” 

“None of this is your fault.” I give her a reassuring smile. “We all just gotta learn to adapt to the changes somehow.”

“How’s your family though?”

“I don’t even know anymore. My brother and mother won’t talk to each other. My little brother is now acting like the parent. My mother’s depression is… a challenge. And that doesn’t include everything going on with Kyra.” _And Ethan and that mean Dr. Fitzgerald._

Aurora sits up straight and locks onto my eyes. 

“I even got into it with Sienna today,” I admit willingly.

My roommate’s mouth twitches.

“What?” I ask her, confused.

“Let me guess, you railed on her about something that wasn’t really her fault.”

“I—” My cheeks burn and I indulge in another spoonful of the treat that could possibly cool me back down.

“All I’m saying is that I’ve been on the receiving end of your anger multiple times because you tend to jump to conclusions.”

I sigh. “Yeah. I’m sorry about all that. And you’re right.” I play with the spoon in the bowl.

“Hey, give me that before you eat it all.” Aurora takes the bowl away from me and lightly chuckles, giving me a smile unworthy of her friendship. 

“I’ll get you some more tomorrow,” I promise.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” She looks up from one of her many books. “I think we all need some time away. How about we all go see a movie to destress?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“What about that new Thomas Hunt movie, _The Last Duchess?_ I’ve been reading some great things about it.”

“Oh?”

“It’s supposed to be a historical drama.”

_I wonder if that is the type of movie Ethan would watch._ What am I thinking?

“Plus, it has Chris Winters,” Aurora continues. “And that new, popular actress, Jessica Clark. I heard she and Thomas Hunt are rumored to be dating.”

“I didn’t realize you were into celebrity gossip.”

“Well, we all have our guilty pleasures.”

We both laugh, but my friend’s turns into a hilarious snort.

* * *

Aurora wanted to watch the movie at the historic theater downtown. Because it only takes cash, I make a stop at the ATM. There’s a man ahead of me, so I wait as I scroll through my phone. Elliot still hasn’t responded to me in the past few days. I send him another text.

**_ZL: You doing OK? We should talk soon._ **

After I tap send, I hear a set of familiar voices coming down the sidewalk. When I look, my entire body feels as if it can’t move, except for the rapid sensation of my heart that makes my chest ache. 

Ethan and Harper are walking down the sidewalk. Her arm is looped inside the crook of his. They stop and turn towards each other. I notice that they are now standing in front of his unmistakable luxury Sedan, which is parked on the street. 

They continue talking, but their voices are muffled due to the distance, so I can’t make out anything. 

There’s a tree on the sidewalk next to me. I take a few steps back to hide myself behind it, but I can’t help but continue observing. I don’t even realize when the man in front of me has finished his transaction.

The two continue talking. Ethan has his hands in the pocket of his brown khakis. He’s discarded his post-Amazon look. If the beard was to go, I should have assumed his more hip attire would have also. 

Harper’s hand lingers on his arm. She brushes some hair out of her face as they continue talking. A smile plays on her lips, while Ethan appears serious and attentive, looking at her as she carries the conversation. I wish I could hear what they are talking about. 

Then Harper’s hands move to hold Ethan’s face between them. And I swear I see some spark being reignited between them, which knots my stomach. Ethan appears to be drawn into her and I witness the last thing I would have ever expected.

They kiss. 

Ethan doesn’t pull away. Instead, he places his hands on her waist and appears to be kissing her in return. I clasp a hand over my mouth, feeling my heart now stuck in my throat. I move backward, pressing my back against the trunk of the tree. I’m now in full regret of deciding to be a voyeur out of curiosity. 

When Harper returned to being an attending, there was a fear that perhaps they would get back together. And now I had a true basis for that fear due to what I’m now observing. 

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t because I ended things between us. He has every right to be with whomever he wants. But I guess—

_He really never wanted to be with me._

I didn’t realize my heart could be broken any further. But I swear I feel the muscle tear in one swift stroke like ripping a piece of paper in half. I nearly cry out in pain due to the sudden feeling.

All I can think of is that he was fighting his attraction towards me _because_ he still held feelings for his ex. And why wouldn’t he? They were together for a long time. It’s hard to erase the importance of a person like that in your life. I remember when I did the f.M.R.I. on him last year, it showed his hypothalamus active when I asked him if he still held feelings for her. He tried to walk around the question, but the results of the machine told me something different. 

Was I just a rebound as he waited for her? Or was this the result of him witnessing me and Bryce the other day? Perhaps he thought I had already moved on from him when he saw us hugging. But that’s ridiculous because a hug isn’t the same thing as a kiss. Friends hug. Friends do not kiss like that. 

_He’s the one who has moved on._

And based on my reaction, I’m the one who hasn’t. 

I finally will my legs to move, taking one quick step after the other. I don’t realize that I’m now just running away from the scene, sprinting across the crosswalk and across the street, until I make it two more streets over. I slow down as I near the theater.

My friends are waiting outside. Bryce with his sister. Rafael with Sora. Elijah with Phoebe. Jackie and Aurora. 

I stop at the corner to catch my breath and to regain my composure before I join them.

“Zyra! You made it.” Rafael waves.

“You look out of breath. You okay?” Jackie asks. 

“Oh, definitely. Just couldn’t wait to see this movie with you guys.” It saddens me that I’ve become good at lying to my friends.

I look around and down the street, but I don’t see Sienna. 

“Where’s Sienna?” I ask everyone.

“She’s with Danny tonight,” Aurora explains, but she gives me a look that tells me that isn’t the whole reason.

After making up an excuse for not having cash and Bryce kindly paying for me, we grab snacks and fill up the back row with all us. Rafael on my left offers me some of his and Sora’s popcorn. Bryce on my right steals a sip of my root beer. I playfully nudge him in the rib with my elbow.

“Hey, I paid for your ticket and your food.”

“Fair enough.”

The moment I begin to lean over him to speak with Keiki, his sister, the room slowly goes dark and the first trailer plays.

“After, Zyra,” she tells me, with a soft smile.

Before I can fully straighten up in my seat, Bryce puts his arm around my shoulders, holding me against him. 

“You could stay like this if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.” 

I poke his stomach against the tautness of his abdomen. “You wish,” I tease back. 

About thirty minutes into the movie, the lead character’s father dies. My mind begins to drift away from the film’s story to focus on _everything_. I pull at the collar of my sweater. It feels like it’s trying to suffocate me, and my throat and mouth immediately become dry. I feel sweat streak down the sides of my face. Sweat also begins pooling under my armpits. My chest feels tight and my lungs start to burn. Then the telling sign—

My entire right arm, not my hand, begins to shake. I grip it and stand up. 

I feel Bryce’s hand on the small of my back. “Zyra?” I hear him ask quietly.

“Zyra, you okay?” Rafael whispers as I squeeze past him and Sora. I nod with a smile and then hurry up the aisle with some long monologue from the main actress playing out behind me. 

I leave the building for some fresh air. But I am unable to maintain any balance. Dizziness starts to settle in as I lean against the brick wall of the theater. I realize that I’ve begun to hyperventilate. My lungs burn with each eager breath I try to take. I clutch my chest as I hunch over, gasping for air.

Before everything turns to black, random images flash in front of me. 

The wax-figure-like face of my sleeping Papa in his coffin.

Mama dropping to her knees in loud, painful sobs at the memorial.

Jacob sitting quietly in his sadness with his Captain American figure.

The torn look on Elliot’s face as he looked back at me when he left Mama’s house for good.

Kyra laying in her hospital bed alone. 

The cold stare of Dr. Fitzgerald. 

The angry glare from Sienna. 

Ethan kissing Harper. 

I swear the last thing I hear is Rafael’s voice—“Zyra!”


	13. The Breakdown (WITHHOLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra's anger intensifies to a breaking point when everything around her continues to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mild discussion of child abuse.

I fling a PowerBar into the trash can next to me. 

The wrapper lists blueberry flavor, but it tasted more like chalk than fruit. I’ve never been much of an energy bar type of person, but I couldn’t refuse it when Bryce offered it to me after one of his now usual head shakes with a pronounced sigh, followed by “Eat something. Anything. Please.” 

My appetite still hasn’t come back, which has been one of the lingering issues since returning from Colorado. What they don’t realize is that I stay hydrated and I still manage to keep coffee in my diet. Though, the idea of solid food doesn’t sound too appealing these days. 

I know he and my other friends have been worried about my dramatic weight loss over the last few weeks, but some days, I’m just tired of hearing about it. They usually sneak food into my pockets or bag, or try to get me to share their meals. It has even gotten to the point that they treat me like a baby, turning the food into an airplane that is trying to make a landing in my mouth.

“Open wide. It’s coming in for a landing.” 

The words in a condescending baby voice would be accompanied by an unhumourous attempt at airplane noises. I usually swat their hands away, one after the other. They consider this new exchange between us to be comical at best, but I find it unhelpful and demeaning and sometimes outright infuriating.

I may have slapped someone’s hand a bit too hard one day. 

At least I tried with the energy bar. After a single bite, I did what I’ve been doing with most of my food lately—tossed it. 

I’m sure my friends would consider two bites a success, but like with many other things right now, I need to take baby steps. It’ll hold me over until lunch time, when I will probably just opt for a coffee. 

But it’s not just the annoyance of the lost appetite that keeps me currently sitting on a bench outside of the hospital. It’s also the stress of speaking with my brother, Elliot, who has remained in Colorado to take care of Mama and Jacob.

“She doesn’t want to do it, Zyra.” Elliot sighs.

I switch the phone to my other ear.

“Well, the church’s website says they hold their grief support group every Wednesday night. Didn’t you get the link I sent you?”

“Yes.” I can almost hear his eye-roll.

“It being at her church could get her motivated to go.”

“You make it sound so easy, but you’re not the one here, Zyra!”

I pause a beat, biting my lip. “I know, El,” I reply, disheartened.

“No, you don’t know,” he aggressively barks back. “Between trying to encourage Mama to get out of bed _at least_ once a day, making sure she and Jacob are both fed and cleaned, making sure I get Jacob on time to school, get his lunch packed, help him with his homework, and all of these other things you’ve probably never even considered.” There’s a deafening silence followed by a shaky sigh. “Plus I have my own shit to take care of for work.”

“El—”

“Save it. We both know whose job is more important,” he says, exasperation in his voice.

“What are you talking about? We both agreed to this arrangement. You know I can’t work remotely like you. I also have a residency to complete, if you’ve forgotten. But don’t act like I’m not trying to help. I’ve been doing all the research here. I even got Mama a prescription for antidepressants.”

“Yeah. And she won’t even take them. I dare you to spend one day in my shoes.”

“You know what? Forget this. I’ll talk to you when you calm down,” I snap back.

I hang up but I have the urge to chuck my phone in with that damn PowerBar.

I remain sitting in silence, gripping my phone in both hands and watching people enter and exit the hospital. I can feel my entire body flush, which almost makes me tempted to rip my white coat off. My thick, curly locks have also returned after finally finding time for my wash day, and they’re acting like a hat, forcing heat to remain in my head to keep it warm. I feel like I’m overheating. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, drawing in slow, steady breaths. 

_Elliot’s right. How can I truly help my family when I’m here?_

But I feel that I’m not alone in my anguished solitude. 

I look up towards one of the windows that looks out over the entrance. It’s the window to Ethan’s office. There is a figure standing in front of it. But because of the distance and the glare from the sun, it appears more like a haunting shadow. 

The height of the shape with the broad area of shoulders make it unmistakably Ethan.

Is he observing me or having another existential crisis as he watches the steady flow of foot traffic?

When I came back, he was understanding and caring. His behavior towards me wasn’t filled with animosity or bitterness or even resentment. And it was coming back to that which made the transition from my return move forward without the challenges and discomfort I had been expecting. I had expected us to be short with each other, exchange harsh glances, and purposefully keep our distance. Thankfully, it never turned out that way.

But we have yet to talk about _us_ , as he had promised. It’s been two weeks and still nothing. I know we both have pressing work obligations and personal issues to attend, but I also can’t help but feel that he’s avoiding the conversation now, like he usually does. 

But I’ve also been avoiding my own conversation with him.

I haven’t told him much of anything about the trip and its aftermath. He knows my father passed, but that’s as much information as I have been able to acknowledge. There’s still a voice inside my head urging me not to confide in him because I still don’t trust him. He’s warm and caring now, but once things begin to work themselves out, he’ll keep me away at arm’s length again.

I don’t want to return to that, so I’m keeping my feelings locked away from his access and influence. I’m keeping him much in the dark because—

I’m trying to protect my heart.

As I hold my gaze on the figure in the window through my squinted eyes, I begin to feel the flutter of anger deep in my chest slowly calm. I hope he does see me as I do him. 

But I want to test my theory. 

I wave. 

The shadow remains still as a statue, but then grows incrementally smaller until it disappears fully. All that’s left is the reflection of the snow-covered limbs of a barren tree branching out across the glass.

The source of heat in my chest begins to flare up. 

My gaze flicks between the now vacant window and the trash can. I can’t help but picture me grabbing him and tossing his cowardly ass in there.

* * *

I’ve learned that some advice doesn’t actually mean anything. People may say some things in times of a crisis, but when faced with the reality of the situation, the advice is nothing more than a Band-Aid. I listened to Mama. I listened to Elliot. I even listened to Laura. 

That Band-Aid has now been ripped off, and my anger is flowing out of my wound. 

I can’t seem to let go of my anger for _everything_. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m angry at Papa for dying. I’m angry at Mama because she’s not there for Jacob. I’m angry at Elliot because he’s being a huge ass instead of trying to work with me to help the family. I’m angry at Ethan for his constant push-pull behavior. I’m angry at Rafael who still hasn’t responded to any of my texts.

But I’m truly angry with myself.

I couldn’t help Papa. I can’t help Mama or Jacob. I can’t be there to help Elliot. I can’t let go of my feelings for Ethan. I ruined my friendship with Rafael. 

I’m not going to do this now. This constant self-loathing is only going to make matters—and my relationships—worse. 

There is one good thing though. My dear friend, Kyra, is recovering well after a near scare.

I came back in time to learn that she committed to an experimental surgery to remove her cancer. Before my father’s passing, she was adamant about letting the cancer run its course, and there was nothing I could do to convince her to continue fighting. But Bryce was able to convince her with this surgery. 

_Thank you, Bryce. Thank you so much._

However, she had a delayed awakening from the anesthesia. While we were waiting for her to wake up, I was cursing at whatever higher power may exist. It would have been too ironic if she had passed away due to the anesthesia and not from her aggressive cancer. But she finally woke up, 45 minutes after she was supposed to. That night, I cried alone in an on-call room reeling from the thought of another death of someone I love.

Kyra is not out of the woods yet. There’s still a chance something could go wrong during her recovery, but I’m trying to remain hopeful, even though it has proven to be difficult lately.

She smiles at me as I walk into her room. Bryce is with her, checking on her as both her doctor and friend. 

“Looks like you’re being taken care of really well,” I tell her, while motioning towards Bryce.

“Zyra,” she says, “no one can replace you.”

I place a hand over my heart, exaggerating my surprise. “Well, I did bring you a Jello cup. Cherry, like you wanted.”

“Not so fast.” Bryce snatches it out of my hand. “She can have it after I finish her examination.”

“Look at little Bryce here being all serious and professional,” Kyra teases.

“Little?” he asks, his pen stilling against the chart. “There’s nothing little about me, _anywhere_.” He smirks, motioning his hand up and down the length of his body.

My mouth snaps shut to keep in my laugh. But Kyra doesn’t hold back, and her own laughter forces her chest to heave, making her wince.

“Whoa there, Kyra. You’re still recovering.” Bryce places a hand on her upper arm.

“Then stop making me laugh.” She begins coughing until finally settling down with a cheerful smile on her face. 

“Leave it to Bryce to turn everything crude,” I add.

“Hey, I was just defending myself from libel,” he says, winking at Kyra.

Kyra and Bryce continue their witty banter with neither of them ever losing steam. I pull up a chair for my front row seat to their comedy act.

“Dr. Lahela. You’re not getting paid to socialize.” Dr. Fitzgerald, the leading thoracic surgeon who did Kyra’s surgery, walks in, cutting off their playfulness. 

Even a surgeon should realize the benefits of keeping a patient in high spirits during recovery. Dr. Fitzgerald has never been the most courteous of types. He’s serious to almost a fault. Even Ethan knows how to smile and be good-natured with his patients. This doctor is just… cold. 

“Updates, Dr. Lahela.” 

His eyes linger on me for a moment. They flicker with a lack of warmth that makes my entire body freeze with an almost strange, unnerving anxiety. 

“If you don’t mind, Dr. Lewis, I need to complete this examination on _my_ patient. If I remember correctly, you are not family, so by law, you cannot remain in this room.” He takes the chart from Bryce and begins reviewing it, no longer looking in my direction. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, I’m sure you understand.” 

Bryce’s laid-back expression vanishes. His mouth is set in a hard line. Kyra must sense the rise in tension in the room because she addresses her doctor.

“Oh, it’s fine, Dr. Fitzgerald. She’s a good friend of mine,” she explains, grinning tiredly.

But I can see the subtle clenching of the thoracic surgeon’s jaw. If I weren’t so skilled at observing others as a diagnostician-in-training, I may have easily missed his reaction.

“It’s okay. I have my clinic round soon.” I lift myself up from the chair, pull out another Jello cup from my coat pocket, and place it on the stand next to her bed. “For after,” I whisper. 

Bryce raises an eyebrow at me and I hear a giggle lingering in Kyra’s throat. 

The surgeon doesn’t say a word to me or spare me another glance, as if I’m not even in the room. 

“Let’s check on how the incisions are healing,” Dr. Fitzgerald addresses Bryce, the moment I’m near the doorway.

I have no idea what that cold exchange was all about, but there’s something unsettling about being around Dr. Fitzgerald. Ethan can be strict and hard, but this was different. This seemed more… dismissive in nature.

* * *

My clinic round started off mild, making it a nice relief from the stressful incidents from earlier. But then I had a severe case.

I stitched up a two-inch gash on a seven-year-old’s forehead. Her father gave me a story about her tripping over their cat and hitting her head on the edge of the coffee table, but I had also observed some bruising on her arms. She also flinched when her father touched her and would never look at him directly.

I had to call in one of the pediatric attendings, whose more trained to spot child abuse. She took over from there, and I had to continue with seeing other patients.

I carry my concern for that young girl as I enter the cafeteria and find Jackie and Esme sitting together. They’ve appeared to become friendly while I was away, which contrasts with the gossip of their bickering via Sienna’s text updates. 

I order a coffee and plop down in a seat at their table.

“Hey Zyra, I was just telling Esme about one of my patients that came in today.” She leans over to me, her voice quiet.

“Yeah? I have one to—“

“She had PSAS.”

My jaw drops and I stare widely between Jackie and Esme. “Persistent Sexual Arousal Syndrome? That poor woman.”

“Yeah.” Jackie sits back up in her chair. “We’re going to try fluoxetine and see how that goes.”

I just nod and sip on my coffee, enjoying the bitter flavor my tastebuds recognize with ease. 

“Too bad I’m still not working with you,” Esme says to Jackie. “I could have been there to see it.”

My gaze darts to Esme, feeling a bit stung by her comment. Perhaps they’ve become even closer than I realized.

“She must have orgasmed at least five times during our session.” Jackie takes a bite of her pasta salad, which stifles her laugh. But her smile spreads out against her fork.

“Come on, Jackie, have some compassion,” I begin to scold. “That disorder is terrible and research shows it disrupts their lives and can lead to severe depression, even suicide.”

“Oh, please. I’m jealous. I’m in a drought right now and I’m getting tired of my hand doing all the work.”

_Join the club._

Esme chokes on the soda she was swallowing. Jackie pats her on the back. My intern lifts her hand, her eyes watering. “I’m okay.”

“What I wouldn’t do for some soft, warm, moist, female lips kissing my clit towards a cathartic explosion.” 

Esme blushes. “Probably TMI,” she mutters under her breath.

“You know those two things are not the same. You can control your damn orgasms and _enjoy_ them, Jackie. That woman can’t! It’s a nightmare for anyone who has it!”

“Jeez, Zyra. What’s gotten into you?” Jackie rolls her eyes. 

“Maybe you’re just hungry. You can have some of my fries,” Esme offers.

“Yes. Good idea. She needs more than coffee these days.” Jackie plucks one of the fries from the pile and begins doing that same idiotic airplane routine that is commonly used on babies. “Come now, Zyra. Here comes the airplane.”

I grab her wrist before the fry even reaches my lips. “This routine is getting old, and you’re the worst offender,” I say harshly, narrowing my eyes.

She yanks it away from me and holds her wrist. “Fuck, Zyra,” she hisses. “Felt like you were about to break my wrist. And over a fry!”

“It’s not about the fry, and you know it.”

She continues rubbing her wrist, looking at me from the corner of her eye. “You really need to let off some steam. If only you were getting it from Dr. Ramsey on a regular basis, maybe you’d be more chill.” 

My gaze shoots to her. I slam my hands on the table, not realizing it has drawn attention from others. 

“What the hell, Jackie?” 

“What? I know there was something going on between you two last year. It might have been when you were pleading with him not to leave in the lobby right when he quit. I heard the drama of the situation could have been taken directly from a _Grey’s Anatomy_ episode. Honestly, I’m just surprised you didn’t tell me you were having an affair with your attending.”

“That’s not—” My eyes widen, and I feel betrayed as my privacy has just now been violated and aired open right in front of my intern. “He’s my mentor. Of course, I didn’t want him to leave!”

I never really had thought about the repercussions of others witnessing that moment. Nothing had mattered at that time. In desperation, I begged for him to not leave… _me_. It never occurred to me that it would turn into hospital gossip. I remember June accusing Ethan and me of the same thing. Now I understand where it may have come from.

“Mentor with benefits, I’m sure.” She tries to give a playful wink, but it fails.

“Says the woman who enjoys flirting with _multiple_ attendings to get what she wants.”

Jackie shrugs. “I’m not the only one who gets what she wants.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The nice cushy position on the team, after all.”

“That was Chief Banerji’s decision! And when Ethan had quit, the competition also ended.”

“Oh, Zyra,” Jackie places her hand on top of mine. “That wasn’t all that ended, was it?” 

My hardened expression falls, and I look at her with nothing but the unwavering pain that I’ve been trying to keep hidden. 

“Oh, Zyra, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

I slowly pull my hand from under hers and let it drop to my side. 

I refuse to take any more of her bait, to even confirm anything she has said. 

I had thought Jackie to be my friend. But perhaps she has been showing me her true colors all along, ever since her competitive behavior towards me during the competition. Is she turning into my own Tobias? Perhaps this is why Ethan said he no longer stays in touch with those he had residency with. I think I’m beginning to understand.

Jackie picks at her pasta, avoiding my gaze. Esme just looks between us, uncomfortably. I can see her eyes glance periodically towards the exit, probably hoping to escape this unprofessionalism between two second year residents. Not exactly a good example to set for an intern. 

My pager goes off.

_Speak of the devil._

I stand up, not bothering to take my coffee with me. “I’ll catch you later, Esme. I’ll check in later for an update on the meningitis patient.”

I leave without purposefully saying another word to Jackie. 

I can hear Esme’s voice. “That was cruel. You know she just recently lost her father.”

I’m too far away and gone to even hear if Jackie gives a reply.

* * *

I repeatedly push the button to the elevator with so much impatience that I jam my finger against it. I draw my hand back, gripping it tightly against my chest and cursing wildly under my breath. 

My eyes begin to burn and I shut them to keep the tears from falling. But the tears are not a result of the physical pain.

The moment I hear the ding from the elevator, I quickly wipe at my eyes before the doors open. But when they finally do, I pause before I step inside. 

“Trust me, if you do that move, you gain 50 XPs,” my friend, Elijah says to the other person in the elevator with him. 

It’s Rafael.

His once amused expression drops when he sees me. 

“Hey, Zyra!” Elijah greets as he exits the elevator. Rafael hesitantly follows out behind him.

“Hi there.” I then look to Rafael. “Hey, Raf.”

“Hey,” he says almost emotionlessly.

I feel a pang in my chest, but try to hide any discomfort with my usual smile. “So, what are you two up to?”

“Oh, I just ran into Rafael. I gotta make some rounds with my intern. I’ll catch you both later.” Elijah waves and heads down the corridor, leaving both of us standing outside the elevator in an awkward silence. 

Rafael focuses his gaze towards the cafeteria, never once looking in my direction.

I place my hands in my coat pockets. 

“Um, how’ve you been?” I ask, trying to break the silence.

“Busy.”

“Too busy to reply to my texts?”

“Yeah.” He opens his mouth again to say something but then immediately closes it.

“Oh.” My smile slowly fades. “Raf, I wanted to apologize—”

“Look, Zyra, I gotta go.” His gaze finally snaps to mine, but it flickers with a sadness he’s not willing to share. “I’m grabbing lunch with Bryce.”

“Oh. Okay, um, I’ll talk to you later?”

“That’s not a good idea right now,” he says, shaking his head. “Bye, Zyra.”

The way he says his farewell has a sense of finality to it. I watch him walk away from me with the feeling that this is the last time I will ever see him again. 

_What is it with men and trying to avoid me?_

My pager goes off again.

* * *

I answer the page and find Ethan is already with Eddie, our trust-fund-kid patient. My boss decided that we would work on this case together to help me get back into the swing of things. I think he probably wants to keep an eye on me in case I mess up. Or maybe he has an entirely different motive.

“Dr. Lewis, I’ve missed you!” Eddie’s face lights up when I walk into the room. 

“Hi, Eddie. Dr. Ramsey. Sorry I’m late. You know us doctors.” I give them both a warm smile, but I can’t get it to reach my eyes. “How are you feeling today?” I ask our patient.

I meet Ethan’s gaze, but his expression darkens with an unreadable emotion. 

“Lewis, I was about to explain to Eddie some of the tests we will need to run. But since you have now graced us with your presence, would you care to elaborate?”

“Yes, of course, Dr. Ramsey.” I turn to Eddie. “I’m sure Dr. Ramsey has reviewed all of your symptoms with you. We want to do some imaging on your abdomen due to your complaints of the persistent abdominal pain. We also are going to order a comprehensive blood test to measure and evaluate your entire body. We want to make sure we don’t leave any rock unturned.”

“Does this mean needles?” our patient asks.

“Yes, of course. We’ll also need a urine sample,” Ethan adds.

“Can we just do that? I hate needles.”

“Our phlebotomists are really good at their jobs. You won’t even know,” I try to assure.

Eddie takes in a long breath, it hissing between his teeth. “Yeah. No. You guys still haven’t figured out how to get blood without needles yet?”

“It is common for many patients to be afraid of—”

“No, doc,” Eddie cuts Ethan off, which makes my boss’ expression turn hard. “Urine only.”

“Eddie, we can assure you that—”

“No, Little Doc. I don’t care what Big Doc over here or you have to say. I’m not doing any blood work. If you’re truly the best, I’m sure you can figure out an alternative.”

I can already read the annoyed expression on Ethan’s face: _Did you just call me Big Doc?_

Ethan begins to say something, but his exact words are muffled as they reach my ears. The lingering heat in my chest ignites and sends waves of fire throughout my body. My breathing becomes hard and my body trembles slightly. 

At this very moment, everything in my field of vision fades away and all that is left is my whiny ass patient.

I don’t know if it is due to everything that has accumulated over the past weeks or if it’s the lingering effect of what has happened today, but I am so heated that my rage finally explodes.

“Why you self-entitled, no-clue, whiny, man-child! I’m Dr. Lewis, not Little Doc. And that is the most renowned diagnotician in this country, Dr. Ethan Fucking Ramsey. Have some goddamn respect! You came here because you wanted the best care from the top doctors in this country, and here you are whining about one stupid little needle. Oh boo hoo! Grow up!”

I think I hear Ethan call out to me, but I ignore it.

“There are _far_ worse things than getting your blood drawn. There are children who come in because they’ve been physically abused by their parents. There are women who can’t control their own orgasms and it’s a living hell for them. There are people who have little hope of surviving aggressive cancer, but they still try to fight it. There are people who literally go to sleep and never ever wake up again!” I stare hard at him with fire flaring in my pupils. “You are getting that damn blood work so that we can properly do our jobs! Do you hear me?”

“Dr. Lewis!” This time Ethan’s voice snaps me out of my heated rant. He steps in front of me, blocking me from our patient.

I groan and glare up at my boss. “This is ridiculous.” I throw up my hands and hastily walk out, my heart now tripling in speed. 

I scan the corridor for the closest escape. No supply closet. No on-call room. But then I see the sign for ‘stairs’ above a door and without a thought, I race towards it and disappear through it. My feet carry me up each step. Each step being a reminder of what I’m trying to run from. The feelings of shame, guilt, sadness, worthlessness, but mostly anger. My anger is for these depressing and trying weeks and for everything I can’t control.

If Papa hadn’t have died, none of this would be happening.

I hear the door close followed by my name being called. 

“Zyra, what the hell?” the voice calls out.

Footsteps pound against the steps behind me, and my heart beats even faster as I hear them quickening in pace and getting closer. 

_Don’t stop! Keep running!_

But a hand grabs my arm and stops me on the landing before I can reach the next set of stairs. I scream defiantly and push the person away as I back up against the wall. 

Then, through my anger-induced vision, I see that it’s Ethan.

He has his hands up, as if trying to tell me _I’m not gonna hurt you_. He’s looking back at me with the most haunted expression I have ever seen from him. He doesn’t even look angry, the one emotion I was expecting. It’s something even more than worry or fear. 

He looks almost heartbroken. 

“Zyra,” he utters with a degree of warmth and concern. “It’s okay.” He slowly lowers his hands and takes one cautious step towards me, like I’m some rabid wolf who has yet to befriend a human and may attack him at any moment. 

My back is flush against the wall, but I make an effort to push back more into it, hoping that it’ll suck me in onto the other side.

“Just get mad at me,” I exclaim in a nasty tone.

“What?” He stills, no longer trying to get any closer. 

“Reprimand me like you’re supposed to. Write me up. Scold me. You’re my boss, remember? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”

Ethan lowers his brow, sympathetically.

“Zyra, this isn’t about the patient anymore.” He takes another cautious step towards me. “Talk to me,” his voice pleads.

I finally come to my senses and realize I have nowhere to run, nowhere to escape. There are only walls, which I feel are closing in around me, slowly suffocating me as the air thins out and the temperature rises to boiling.

And in that moment, these walls become the perfect symbolism for everything. They are my anger, trying to protect me from what’s on the other side. The life I don’t know how to live anymore. The life I don’t know how to control. The life without my Papa, my family, my friends, and the very man standing right before me with the most harrowing expression directed at me.

But all of these changes have become impossible to neglect. Now that I’m left with this realization, there’s nothing but an overwhelming fear that shakes my very core. 

“Oh god,” I faintly choke out in horror of my realization. My face drops into the palms of my hands, as I begin to drown in my grief. 

I don’t know when it happened, but at some point I feel Ethan’s arms wrap around me, pressing my body against his. I pound my fists against his chest, trying to push him away. But his body remains still and hard as the very wall behind me.

He never loosens his grip. Instead, he holds me even tighter, and it is that feeling that finally lets me give in. My fists turn into claws that grip his coat. My legs give out under me, and I feel him support me as he guides me to the cold, cement floor of the landing. He sits with me, cradling me in his arms and listening to me weep aloud in unrelenting, painful sobs.

* * *

“I’m going to kill them!” 

I watch Sienna stab her meatloaf repeatedly with her fork.

Sienna rarely gets angry, but when she does, it is one temper not to be reckoned with. She’s a loyal, fierce protector of the people she cares about and the only person I trusted to tell her about the incident with Jackie… and everything else.

I hadn’t told Ethan the truth about my breakdown. In fact, I didn’t say one word to him except “sorry”. I let him believe it was due to my continued struggles with my father’s passing, which is only part of the reason. He had continued to hold me in his arms trying to console me back to some sense of normalcy. But what is normal anymore?

I don’t have an answer to that question.

I’ve been keeping to myself for the past few days, focusing mostly on work and exchanging short texts with Elliot. I haven’t spoken to Jackie and I haven’t seen or heard from Rafael. 

But with Sienna being Sienna, she insisted we go out for dinner. Just the two of us. 

We decided to venture to the diner by the waterfront. As I updated her on my situation, she sat there wide-eyed, but after I finished retelling the story with Jackie, that’s when she truly showed me how she felt via maiming a slice of meatloaf. 

“I knew it would be hard, but I never knew it would be _this_ hard,” I say, while playing with one of the many potato chips piled up next to an uneaten BLT. 

“Any sensible person would be struggling right now, too. I’m just so sorry that all this is happening. And Jackie…” _Stab!_ “I can’t believe she would talk to you like that.”

“Maybe I deserve it. I haven’t exactly been the best person to be around lately.”

“Zyra, no—”

“It’s true. I’m just angry all the time. I thought I was doing better once I came back, but…” The chip cracks between my fingers, leaving grease on my fingertips. “I took it all out on a patient. Granted, he may have deserved some scolding, but I’m better than that. That isn’t me. I tell Jackie to have some compassion, and then I go and do that.”

“Well, she also didn’t just lose her father, have a fallout with one of her closest friends, and have to deal with even more pressing family issues.” She reaches across the table and holds my hand tightly. “None of this is your fault. And it’s okay if you feel you’ve lost control or you feel lost.”

I swallow back a lump in my throat. 

“I still don’t think it’s an excuse for my behavior.” I keep my attention on the chips, breaking a new one. “I also can’t get that little girl out of my head. I had to give a statement to the police yesterday.” 

“So the abuse was true?”

I slowly nod, never lifting my gaze from the potato chips.

There’s a long silence between us as my friend continues holding my hand. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

I finally look up to meet her gaze.

“I love you, too.” I squeeze her hand back.

“Dolphins for life.” She smiles warmly at me.

I begin to chuckle, gently wiping away the tears that have collected in the corners of my eyes. I notice tears welling in her own eyes.

“And I’ll always be here for you because like it or not, you’re my best friend.”

“Thanks,” I give her a half-smile. “Same.”

“I’m sure you probably wanted to hear a love confession from Dr. Ramsey, not from me.” She steals one of my chips, and bites into it purposefully with a small smirk on her face.

“Ouch.” I sigh, shaking my head, but my smile remains. “What would Danny think of you confessing your love to another person?”

Sienna giggles. “Um, I never, um—”

“You’re not at the I-love-you stage yet?”

She takes a bite of her meatloaf, giving her time to avoid answering my question.

“That’s not important right now,” she mumbles while chewing.

“But it’s a welcome distraction.” I throw a broken piece of chip at her, our smiles deepening into laughter.

“But seriously, have you talked to Dr. Ramsey about any of this? Not even in the stairwell?”

I just shake my head.

“Things haven’t been the same between us. I don’t really know how to open up to him anymore.”

“Well, from the sounds of it, he’s offering himself to you.”

“Sienna!”

“No no, not in the sexual way. But I’m sure that wouldn’t be too upsetting.” She playfully winks at me. “What I meant was, I don’t think I’m the only person you can talk to. You two have always been there for each other, especially through all of the challenging times. I mean, god, Zyra, you saved the man’s mentor’s life! If that doesn’t solidify this amazing connection you two have, then everyone else is utterly hopeless in love.”

“Love? I never said we—”

“You’re telling me that you don’t love him? Can you honestly tell me that right now to my face?”

Ethan doesn’t believe in love, not the type of love I feel for him anyway, so any feelings I have towards him wouldn’t hold up against his own beliefs. 

“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” I say in a broken whisper, while pushing some chips around on my plate.

“Or maybe it is.” Sienna sighs. “I know you two had a falling out, but from what you told me about how he reacted when you came back and what happened in the stairwell, I think he’s really concerned for you and wants to help. He probably feels the same as you.”

“How so?”

“Not knowing how to talk to you. I’d say push aside some of your fears and try talking to him. You might be surprised how he responds. I think you need him right now. And when it comes to you, I can tell he has a soft spot in his cold, mean heart regardless of what has transpired between you two.”

I know she’s only trying to make a light-hearted joke, but his heart isn’t cold or mean. 

_It’s just closed off._

“Sienna… I don’t know.”

Sienna’s phone pings and her face lights up. 

“It’s just Danny. He says he got off earlier than expected and wants to meet up tonight.”

“Oh, he looking for a booty call?” I rest my chin on my hand, a curious smile playing on my lips.

“Zyra!” She blushes but doesn’t deny it.

“It’s okay. Go.”

“No way. I’m here for you tonight.”

“I’m good. Really. I’m just going to go back home and try to get some studying in anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. But I really appreciate our time tonight.” My gaze remains steady on her. “Thank you.”

“I don’t care what time it is. You call or text me if you need anything. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“And promise me one more thing,” she begins as she scoots out of the booth and stands. “Eat at least half of the sandwich, or just pick at the bacon. Something.” 

“Bye, Sienna.” I wave her off without making that second promise. 

After she leaves some cash on the table and goes off to Danny’s place, I remain sitting there fixated on the BLT. I lift up the top slice of bread, noting the mayonnaise and how 90% of the bacon is just fat. 

Any small temptation of sampling it has all but vanished. I push the plate away in disgust and begin to pull out my wallet from my bag.

“Zyra Lewis. Pleasant surprise.”

I look up in the direction of the familiar voice and see Tobias with his dumb wannabe charasmatic grin.

I groan quietly under my breath. “Tobias Carrick. _Un_ pleasant surprise.”

He only chuckles. “Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, I was just about to leave.” 

He ignores me and plants himself in the spot Sienna had sat.

“I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been meaning to get into contact with you at some point.” He drapes his arm across the back of the booth, relaxing as if he has no care in the world. 

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.” 

“Hear me out. There’s talks going around that Mass Kenmore and Edenbrook will merge once the new budget is released.”

“What are you talking about?” I roll my eyes, not believing him.

“Let’s just say Mass Kenmore will be taking in Edenbrook, but only half of the staff.” He shifts to lean forward on his arms. “You should jump ship and join me before it all goes down. It’ll probably be in your best interest in order to save your job. I’ll vouch for you, too. You’re already making quite the name for yourself, and I’d be lucky to have you work on my team. And I’ll be a hell of a lot better of a mentor than Ethan.”

And there it is. My mood now veers sharply to my anger.

“I’m not some pawn you can use in your competitiveness with Ethan.” I toss the remainder of the money for the bill on the table and get up. I then continue in a low voice, taut with lividity, “And if what you are saying is even remotely true, I’d rather take my chances elsewhere. You only wish you had even half of the vision and skill sets that Ethan has. Your jealousy has turned you into a selfish, conniving asshole. And I have nothing to learn from the likes of you.” 

He watches me with his typical smug confidence that I just want to punch from his face. 

“Well, if you change your mind, Aurora knows how to get in touch with me.”

“Not gonna happen,” I mumble under my breath and dart towards the exit as fast as possible. 

I stop outside the door to catch my breath and to stamp out the intensity of my anger. I button up my jacket and sling my bag across my shoulder. I walk down the sidewalk, heading towards the T, when a sporty, black motorcycle pulls up and parks along the curb about four meters in front of me. Once it stops and is caught under the streetlight, the details of the rider come into better view. My feet still against the sidewalk.

The rider’s wearing _the_ green, leather jacket. 

The man then removes his helmet and runs his hand through the familiar brown locks that I wish I could tangle my fingers in.

He swings one of his long legs over the bike, puts his helmet down, and smooths out his clothes before be takes a step onto the sidewalk—

In my direction.

“Ethan?” I ask, surprised, and more uncertain than ever.

He halts, and stares, wordlessly. Then the beginning of a smile tips the corners of his mouth.


	14. Ethan's Temptations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan is consumed by his fears, insecurities, anger, guilt, and regret. Have these made him less or more resistant to the temptations from his past, present, and possible future? And how will this affect his perspective on reconciling with Zyra?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sets up the next CALL and WITHHOLD chapters, which will be the turning point in the direction of Ethan and Zyra's relationship in each path.

She is close. Too close.

Her hand lingers on my forearm, her fingers stroking it tenderly. It then travels upward, sliding along my arm and across my chest. Her touch remains there for a moment too long and panic begins to rise within me. When she takes a step forward, I can feel her ample breasts gently press against my chest. She cups my chin to bring me down to meet her. Because of her statuesque physique in heels, my head doesn’t tilt too far down, and I meet her gaze with ease. Her hazel eyes twinkle with an unwavering confidence, roaming across my face and ending up clinging to my magnetic blues. Her gaze burns into mine with a purpose—to uncover my reaction. 

Her closeness is familiar, and I can almost taste her evocative scent. A soft note of jasmine and citrus. I fight against the urge to close my eyes. To bask in the intimate memories that immediately flood my mind. With the way she continues studying me, she wants me to remember. She wants me to remember all of it. _Us_. But my will overpowers the temptation. 

I had once yearned to return to this exact moment with her. If anything, there was a time I wanted to relive her exhilarating touch, her intoxicating smell, the chameleon-like color of her eyes, her luscious smile, and the sweet taste of every part of her velvet soft skin. I had longed for her to never stray away from my need for her. 

But now…

Her gaze grows soft with a glint of unresolved desire, searching my expression for an opening. 

But do I give it to her? Do I give her the opening that she is searching for in my downturned face?

My mind runs wild as it solely focuses on her intentions, rather than on my own response. I try to mask my inner turmoil with a deceptive calmness. But I know she is aware of my physiological reactions to her advances. My heart is pounding at an irregular speed, my body tense and frozen. It is why her hands move to cradle my face, holding it in place while her thumbs caress my cheeks. Her steady gaze continues to hold me to her. Then there is the glow of her smile, optimistic and resolute.

Her face draws nearer, her warm breath fanning my skin. I inhale sharply. Her rosewood-painted lips brush against mine, then gently cover my mouth, claiming my lips.

I mumble her name against the kiss in a suffocated whisper.

“… _Harper_.”

* * *

####  _CALL_

I knew I shouldn’t have come. 

Sitting with colleagues at a table for dinner, listening to them ramble on about hospital politics, is not the way I would have chosen to spend a Saturday evening. Naveen wanted a dinner with the department heads. It’s his way of building a sense of unity among his leadership, something of great importance to him. He sees the dinner as a way for everyone to be more personable, open. But most importantly, he wants us all to connect on how to navigate the budget cuts when they happen. We need to be unified, he said.

I already get paid for avoiding these people at work. I don’t need to be here. 

Naveen could have easily held a meeting at the hospital in the middle of the day. I could be at home right now indulging in a bottle of scotch and taking notes on a new recipe from Nigella Lawson. I know I will need something new to cook to help me unwind and ease my mind from my usual distraction. 

I’m lying to myself. I don’t think the nuanced and formulaic process of cooking would be enough. 

Except for the scotch. A good scotch can cure almost anything. _Almost._

I’ve been reliving my time with Zyra in Colorado. My mind replays from the moment I knocked on her mother’s door to the moment when I drove away and glanced at Zyra from my rearview mirror. Her mother had welcomed me into her home. Her younger brother bonded with me. Her older brother was patient with me. And Zyra was conflicted throughout all of it. But when she finally began trusting me enough to let me in again, I let my goddamn rules control my decision. And what was my decision? 

To let my pride get in the way of someone who matters to me. 

My rules are an important aspect of my identity as a diagnostician. They help give me purpose and make sense of the world. They guide me in my worldview to make informed and rational decisions. And this is important when saving someone’s life. They help grant me stability in my life and in my work so that I never have to return to being that oblivious and powerless 11-year-old boy whose mother had left him and his dad. Overall, they give me a sense of control. 

It took me almost two decades for me to figure out the rules of the world… and my own. The most important one of all is that there is a logical explanation for everything. If I continue asking the right questions, utilizing the evidence at hand, I will always come up with the answer. 

But with Zyra, I’m finding it difficult to consolidate my feelings for her with my rules. I cannot shake this hold she has over me. Even separating myself from her on a different continent for two months couldn’t break the way this woman has captured me. I also can’t explain it. 

Not only do our conversations challenge my own perspective of the world, but her very presence also challenges a more secret conflict within. 

_Does love outside of the practical sense actually exist?_

All the evidence points to my increased oxytocin levels when I’m with her, or even when I think about her. These levels, though, have spiked to a degree towards an overwhelming irregularity. She is a person I do care for. But she is also a person that I _ache_ for. And now when my thoughts turn to her, that ache appears as a strong palpitation in my heart. It could just be the increased blood flow due to the stress. And this atypical sensation only occurs around Zyra because she is the source of this stress. 

That’s the only way I can rationalize it all. 

But there is one thing that I am certain of. I’m having a battle between my principles and these unprecedented feelings. And it is this internal battle that has only ended up with me hurting her. It’s opened my eyes to a reality without her. It’s a reality that has forced me to question aspects of my rules, my principles, my worldview. And I’m realizing it’s not a reality that I want. 

I had made an exception to my principles once to save Naveen’s life. I traded my principles for a medical cocktail that didn’t even work. Perhaps it helped prolong his time, but there is no evidence to support that theory. And I’m still paying for it now with the Panacea Lab contract, Declan’s residence in the hospital, and the fear of failing Naveen again. 

In the end, when I made an exception, I failed. And when I didn’t make an exception, I still failed. 

Nothing is as clear as it once was. All the certainty in my life began to unravel the moment Dolores passed away. It has now escalated to me questioning everything that had once kept me centered and fulfilled. 

And it is this uncertainty, due to my accumulating failures, that wakes me up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Sometimes I reach over to search along my sweat-stained sheets, believing that my hand will feel her comforting warmth beside me. That I will hear her soft, delicate breathing, and it will lull me back to sleep like a tender melody. But no matter how far my hand reaches, it grasps nothing but the cold air in the lonely dark void that has settled in my bedroom. 

Every night I’m left without the one person who I had come to trust more than anyone else in my life. The one person who would always be there no matter how inconsistent my behavior. The one person who could read my pain, my vulnerability, without having to express a single word. 

She is the one person who could have saved me from this dinner. 

But I don’t deserve her help. I don’t deserve _her_.

She’s probably even more upset with me since I’ve assigned her a ‘babysitter,’ in her own words. 

Zyra’s hand tremor has significantly worsened since the funeral, which was the first time I had noticed it. We had discussed it briefly on the steps outside her childhood home that day. I felt her hand shake within mine. It was subtle and could have easily been missed by an untrained eye. She hadn’t said a word, but just sat there nestled against me as she allowed me to hold her hand. 

“Your hand. When did this begin?” I had asked.

She didn’t say anything at first. I then felt her fingers tighten within mine, as if silently telling me not to go. “This morning,” she’d answered, never once moving her head from my shoulder. “With everything happening today, I’m just a bit stressed. It’ll go away soon.”

It obviously never did. 

And it hasn’t just been the tremor that I’ve commonly observed. Her mental process has slowed, for one. She hasn’t been catching things that I would have deemed obvious for my own mentee. But I can’t help but blame myself for contributing to her situation. _And I hate myself for it._ I’m also afraid because I know where it can lead. 

I was tempted to go to Naveen for advice, but I had decided against it. He had kept my trip to Colorado a secret. That in itself gave him some confirmation of my feelings for Zyra, but I’ve still never outright confirmed anything. If I had gone to him, I was afraid of admitting how I’ve failed Zyra, too. It would have only added to my collection of failures. I honestly didn’t want to provide Naveen with more evidence of them. 

I still haven’t been able to shake how I failed diagnosing him. I still can’t shake the fear of failing as the Director of Diagnostics. And I’m also failing as a son. I know my mother is no longer in town, but I’ve continued avoiding Dad’s calls. 

Without turning to Naveen, I’d decided to make the decision as her boss. Zyra would have to work alongside someone in the meantime. With someone I know she trusts. It was a better alternative than taking her off of her cases. Though, she wasn’t thrilled when I showed up with Delarosa. 

Zyra pulled me off to the side, privately, and her anger flared, her eyes shooting golden sparks.

“What? Now I need a babysitter?” she said defiantly, lowering her voice. 

It was the first sign of visible emotion she’d shown me in weeks. Her usual neutral expression all but vanished. 

“If that’s how you want to view it,” I replied sternly, folding my arms across my chest. 

“You don’t trust me or something?”

I hadn’t exactly been direct with her. This was my opportunity to change that. 

“Lewis, you’re one trigger away from a stress-induced nervous breakdown if you don’t receive help. It’s either have Delarosa work with you or I take you off of your cases and send you home,” I warned. 

“That’s not true. I…” Her angry expression slipped for a second. Then her tone hardened. “I’m fine.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” I leaned towards her, my voice growing soft. “Zyra, as my resident, _you_ are my responsibility.” I touched her elbow lightly, urging yet protective. I had hoped she could see my gaze on her become warm and open. But she drew her arm away from my touch, and I returned to folding my arms across my chest.

We stood there silently, studying each other’s faces. I waited for a sign or a word of objection. But the glare she had been giving me the entire time extinguished. Her eyes flickered with a slow realization. She placed a hand over her eyes and took in a long, steady breath. She stood like that for so long that I was tempted to unfold my arms and use them to embrace her, keeping her safe. But then I recalled what I had witnessed earlier. She was in the arms of Lahela. At the thought, my arms tensed. I kept them against my chest so that I would not give in to the temptation.

She finally dropped her hand and looked at me. 

“Okay. At least you chose the right babysitter.” She began walking away, but then looked over her shoulder at me. And I believe I saw the ghost of a smile. “Oh, and Ethan—”

“Ethan?”

The voice jolts me from my memories.

“Ethan?” Harper calls again, finally grabbing my attention. 

She is holding a menu out towards me. 

“Dessert?”

* * *

“You were quiet this evening. That’s very unlike you,” Harper states as we walk back to my car. She places her hand in the crook of my elbow, as we continue down the sidewalk. I stiffen at the intimate gesture, but then ignore it.

“You know how much I hate these social obligations,” I reply matter-of-factly.

“Well, as Director of Diagnostics, you should be used to them by now. Much like when you tagged along with me for meetings with various reps.”

“You begged me to do it. It wasn’t exactly a choice.”

Harper pats my arm and chuckles with an air of sophistication. “It took a lot to convince you.”

Her comment reminds me of the one person who has been on my mind all evening. Then again, almost everything has begun to remind me of her. 

It never took much for Zyra to convince me to do something out of my comfort zone. Because of her, I ended up partaking in a Sunday afternoon of golf with executives from Banner Health. I pretended to lose in that game in order to keep their spirits high. I wanted to ensure they would honor the deal of the contract in regards to our patients. If it wasn’t for Zyra, I wouldn’t have sacrificed my afternoon and bargained with them towards an additional agreement. This one specifically focused on insuring patients under the care of the Diagnostics Team. 

_The effect this woman can have over me._ I grin to myself.

“Someone’s in a better mood.” Harper squeezes my arm as we stop in front of my car. 

I school back my expression, and place my hands in my pockets. This is the second time tonight Harper has interrupted my thoughts about Zyra. I turn to face her directly. I notice a certain curiosity in the way she is now looking at me. Her eyes are gentle and contemplative.

“Ethan, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” Her hand lingers on my forearm. 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s something I’ve been considering ever since I went back to being an attending.” Harper always has an unwavering confidence around her. Even now. But I can feel my muscles tense, my jaw clench. I know where this conversation is heading.

“I know we had ended things a while ago, but—” 

“Harper—”

She places a finger against my lips. Her touch is gentle but firm, and the scent of her skin is familiar. 

“Wait. Please, let me finish.” There is a slight breeze in the air. A lone strand of her hair gets caught in it, and she brushes it behind her ear. “We’d officially ended things once I became Chief, but we’re now colleagues again. And, well, I feel we are currently both in better, more stable positions.”

She may believe she is, but I’m not. None of my current relationships can be described as ‘stable’. And if I know what Harper is bound to ask me, I don’t know how I will be able to respond. 

The way her hands now travel up my body towards my face sets off a warning in the back of my mind. My fists clench in my pockets, as I feel panic set in. She steps closer. The heat of her body sizzles against mine. Her hands move to cradle my face, as a thoughtful smile curves her mouth. 

“I’m glad your beard is gone,” she comments, while her thumbs caress the light stubble on my cheeks. “You were turning into some type of hipster, almost unrecognizable.” 

I feel a spark of annoyance ignite within my chest at the indirect jab towards Zyra. But Harper doesn’t know why I had kept the beard in the first place. This alone should give me a reason to back away. But Harper’s searing gaze holds me to her. 

She moves her face closer to mine, and her eyes flick to my lips. She licks her own.

Her lips caress against mine as she speaks. “I still have feelings for you.”

Then I feel it. Her moist lips press firmly against mine, searching for an answer to an unspoken question. They are warm against the cold backdrop of the winter evening.

But that’s all they are—warm. 

Her kiss doesn’t ignite my nerves, causing my synapses to fire all at once. It doesn’t even bring forth happier memories of our past. But maybe if I try to give in to Harper, I could begin to relive what we had. Because right now, I’ve already lost the one person I do wish was on the other end of this kiss. The image of Zyra and Lahela embracing in the hallway has forever been burned into my memory. I know she’s receiving from him what I couldn’t give to her. There’s no other explanation. Perhaps I need to do the same. If I try, maybe I can begin to ease the shadow of _her_.

My hands move of their own volition from my pockets to Harper’s waist. I finally close my eyes and return her kiss, slow and soft. She tastes like balsamic vinegar and wine. As I continue kissing her, I realize everything has changed. There is nothing here between us anymore, and there is not even a small sensation to hint at the possibility of more. I gave in too quickly, too easily because of the loneliness and sorrow I feel without Zyra. It would be wrong for me to use Harper in this way. She deserves better than this. I can’t bring Harper into my fractured life only for me to cause pain to an additional person. 

If anything, Harper’s kiss has made me realize that I need to break this cycle of hurting the people who matter to me. 

I can’t do this. I _won’t_ do this to her.

“… _Harper_ ,” I mutter against the kiss.

I feel her pull away, dropping her hands from my face. When I open my eyes to meet hers, she is searching my expression. But before I can say another word, she beats me to voicing my very thoughts.

“This doesn’t feel right, does it?” She gives a weak smile.

“No.” It is the only answer I can give. 

She stares at me with an unreadable expression before she gets into the passenger side of my car. I run a hand through my hair and then join her. There isn’t a single word spoken between us on the drive to her apartment. I park outside her building, but she doesn’t move to even take off her seatbelt. She’s just sitting there quietly looking out straight ahead. But I’ve been in this very position before with Zyra, and that didn’t end well. 

I shift in my seat, my foot remaining on the break. 

“I know you loved me in your own way,” she says, breaking our silence. “But you were never _in love_ with me.”

I put the car in park. My hand lingers and tenses on the gear shift.

“To others, we looked like the perfect couple. And for a long time I believed that. But…” She turns her focus to me, her soft, hazel eyes shining in the streetlight that floods through the windshield. “You could never fully let me in. Even through all our time together, you still had some walls up around me.”

This admission shocks me in my core. I frown as I feel sadness cloud my features. “I’m sorry, Harper. I had no idea you felt this way.”

“Well,” she begins, with a light-hearted scoff, “I’m also at fault because I thought I could change you. Make you love me, trust me.”

“But I did trust you.”

Her body visibly stiffens. Her lips begin to tremble, but she pinches them tight. I then realize I only said ‘trust’. 

“To an extent.” She holds up a hand, regaining her composure. “But I think that was the source of why we had a pattern of breaking up and getting back together.”

“I thought it was because of our in-demand careers.”

“That was another reason.” She lets out a low sigh. “I think becoming Chief was easier than admitting to myself that we wouldn’t have worked out.”

I take in the way her eye color has changed into a somber green. I reach out and clutch her hand. As I observe the disappointment across her face, I begin to come to terms with my version of the reality of our relationship. We may have changed over time. We may have argued over the differences in our professional priorities. We may have broken up when work got in the way. We may have gotten back together when we needed each other the most. And we may have had a strong solid year together before things turned off and on. But her honesty with me now has shown me that I ignored the true cracks in our relationship.

I didn’t realize how much I had hurt Harper. It is time for me to be honest, too. 

“God, Harper. I thought our breakup was mutual.” I drop my head as I try to collect my words. “I also felt I couldn’t give you everything you needed in a relationship. Now I see that it was true.” 

“I felt the same about you. That I wasn’t what you needed.” She places her hand against my cheek. “And when I kissed you tonight, I knew that it was still true. Because there’s someone else. I can see it in your eyes.”

I stare wordlessly across at her, my heart pounding. _She knows about Zyra._ Should I be that surprised? Harper was the one to call me out for my bias towards my intern last year. This prevented me from being able to speak at Zyra’s hearing. And because of our history, she is aware of how I express affection. At times, she probably could read my body language when I was around Zyra, no matter how much I tried to hide it.

But Harper gives me the courtesy of not pursuing an affirmation or an explanation. 

“Well, we still had some really good times together.” She pats my cheek, then places her hand on top of mine. “Our sexual attraction definitely wasn’t the problem,” she says, nearly laughing.

“That is true,” I say, casually amused. 

“And in the long term, we work better as colleagues and friends than we ever did as a couple.” She squeezes my hand. “I wouldn’t give up what we have now for anything.”

“You are definitely the colleague I respect the most.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you.” 

She unbuckles her seatbelt, grabs her purse, and places her hand on the door handle. 

“And Ethan, one more thing.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m glad we had this talk.”

She offers me a forgiving smile. I smile gratefully in return.

* * *

It’s only after 9:30 when I make it home. But after parking my car in the underground garage, I sit there for a good solid hour. My mind replays every interaction, every word spoken, every feeling felt between Zyra and me. Am I doing to Zyra what I did to Harper? 

I slam my car door, as my anger takes over. 

_I fucking messed everything up. First Harper. Now Zyra. What the fuck is wrong with me?_

I toss my keys on the counter and pull out a bottle of scotch whiskey. It’s three-fourths full. But I can only stare at the label. I know that if I take one shot, I may not be able to stop. My mind is currently in a state of disarray and I’m too full of self-loathing and self-hatred to make any well-rounded decisions. Tomorrow’s my day off, which gives me another excuse to empty this bottle out tonight. 

I begin to twist the top off, feeling the tension release from the opening as the cap turns between my fingers. Soon my own tension will do the same. The subtle aroma of oak rises from the bottle and wafts into the air. It’s the distinct quality of my most trustworthy companion. 

“Hello, old friend.”

Before we can become reacquainted, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Of course, I can’t even take a moment to myself. I angrily pull the phone out and am about to turn it off when I see that it’s Harper. Why would she be calling me at this hour? Did she forget something in my car? 

I answer.

“Ethan, Aurora just called me. They had to take Zyra to the ER.”

I hear the bottle cap clink to the floor. My hand braces against the counter.

“Zyra? What are you talking about, Harper?”

“She apparently collapsed at a movie. Aurora is usually so calm, but I could hear her on the verge of tears over the phone. Did you notice any signs? Anything, Ethan?”

_I was too late. I intervened too late. If I hadn’t… If I hadn’t…_

“I’m on my way to Edenbrook now.” I state, ignoring her previous question. 

“No. She’s at Mass Kenmore.”

“I gotta go, Harper.” I hang up immediately, snatch my keys, and run out to my car. 

_I was too late._

* * *

####  **_WITHHOLD_ **

“I’m so sorry,” Zyra repeats, choking out each word through hard, painful sobs.

Her face is buried in my chest, muffling her torturous cry. But the vibrations pass through me like an echo.

She feels fragile in my arms. Smaller, even. As I run a hand up and down her back, I can feel the sharp lines of her shoulder blades, the vertebrae protruding along her spine, the grooves of her ribs. She has physically become nearly a shell. Her body trembles against mine, and I’m afraid I will break her with just a touch.

But I can’t let her go. If I can be anything for her in this moment, I will. 

My prior behavior made it impossible for her to trust me. It’s why she didn’t inform me about her father’s passing. It’s why she left without telling me. It’s why I hadn’t heard a single word from her while she was gone. And it’s also why she hasn’t opened up to me about what had happened since she returned. 

Perhaps she has no other choice but to lean on me now because I am the only person here witnessing her mental breakdown. And what I’m witnessing fills me with dread. Each piercing sob and each choked ‘sorry’ are a misery so acute that it brings me physical pain. This deep, unaccustomed pain is most evident in my chest. The more I listen, and the more I feel her weak, trembling form in my arms, the more I feel as if my chest will implode and crush my heart.

I’m currently teetering on the edge of heartbreak. 

I move my hand to cradle the back of her head. My fingers caress up along the nape of her neck and against her hairline. I can feel a small patch of hair growth. 

At that specific touch, Zyra lifts her head and straightens her posture, creating a space between our bodies. She doesn’t meet my eyes. Her head is down, her chin near her chest. Tears continue to roll down her cheeks, along her lips and jaw. Her sobbing is no longer muffled, and beats heavily against the walls. The sound travels up and down the stairwell.

She’s trying to catch the sobs in her throat. But she struggles, nearly choking out hot beats of breath that burst against my skin. Her erratic breathing increases to the point that she sounds like she is suffocating. 

“Zyra, I need you to follow my breathing,” I say calmly, even though I am panicking internally. 

I take her shivering hand and press it firmly against my chest. I take in a deep breath, hold it, and then exhale. Her head is still lowered, so I am unable to meet her eyes. She continues with her suffocated sobbing. 

“I… can’t…,” she cries, shaking her head. 

With my other hand, I lift her chin. I finally meet her eyes, swollen, red, and blinded by tears. The anguish across her face knots my stomach. 

“Yes, you can,” I whisper tenderly. I then bend my head slightly forward and place my forehead against hers. I repeat the process and she soon follows, matching her breathing to mine. “Good. Just like that.”

I keep her hand steady against my chest until her breathing returns to normal, her crying slowly diminishing. She then leans forward against me, resting her head in the crook of my shoulder, her face turned away from mine. Our hands are sandwiched between our chests, hers softly rising and falling in time with mine. The tension in her body begins to steadily wane. I lean my cheek against the soft curls on her head, and relax against her, taking in the subtle scent of coconut in her hair. I return to rubbing her back. Her body fully calms in my embrace, and I begin to feel a quiet ease settle over me. All I hear now are her quiet sniffles.

I close my eyes and let out a secret sigh of relief. 

I thought I knew what Zyra needed. I thought I knew what was best for her as her mentor, and now her boss. I had continued pushing her away, creating boundaries between us, because I believed I was sacrificing my own desires to give her what she needed. But helping coax her through her breakdown and feeling her regain some normalcy in my arms, I realize I was wrong. 

I’ve tried to give her everything but myself. 

The suffering she is going through quakes deep within my bones. But I maintain my stability for her. There is also the fear of losing her again. It has left a deep, painful regret pooling and settling in my stomach. Regret for making her feel less than what she truly means to me. Regret for running away from her, literally. Regret for not truly listening and considering her feelings. Regret for allowing my rules to cloud my feelings for her. Regret for not being there for her when she needed me.

My life is built around rules that I’ve learned and figured out for myself. The world’s rules. My own rules. They are concrete and something I’ve stayed true to no matter what. But as I sit here now with these fears and regrets, I can’t help but wonder how following those rules brought us to this point. And I know she still carries that same anger towards me, the same distrust. 

I once told her that some things are worth the risk. My underlying meaning was about us, but I couldn’t allow myself to take that risk for her. I believed there was too much at stake: Her career, her training, her reputation. But there’s also the part of me that resisted due to more personal, insecure reasons.

I’ve always resisted taking what I want. I’ve always believed in sacrificing my own desires for the greater benefit of others. It’s the main reason why I don’t take the full amount of my actual salary. I’ve ensured it goes directly into the diagnostics budget. That money could go to better use towards the needs of our patients. 

But Zyra noticed the effect it has had on me right away, on her very first day at Edenbrook. I was standing in front of a vending machine, eyeing a chocolate bar. I even have to weigh my risks with something as simple as a piece of candy. I will never forget what she said to me after she tossed me the chocolate:

_It’s okay to treat yourself sometimes._

That’s when I knew that she could see right through me. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. She could read me better than anyone in my life ever has, and she has proven that on countless occasions. It’s the reason why I began to open up to her, to share my burdens, to find enjoyment in our conversations and the time we could share together, to allow myself to be vulnerable around her, to trust her. 

But due to my rules and principles and my insecurities and fears, I couldn’t allow myself to be with her, to fully submit to my feelings for her. And these feelings for her scared the shit out of me because she was my intern, and now my resident. She is brilliant and carries a potential for being a diagnostician that is incomparable to any other resident I’ve ever worked with. She also has the ability to make me feel something I’m unable to define. And because of all of this, I’ve been confused, conflicted, angry, _terrified_. 

I think a big part of it is due to not believing I deserve it. I fail at relationships. This failure makes me feel I don’t deserve friends, let alone romantic partners. 

But right now, I may need her just as much as she may need me.

I don’t make exceptions to my rules. Making an exception can lead to making a new rule. And that rule can go against my very foundation. But I have this need for Zyra that causes a distraction unlike anything I have ever experienced. She makes me do things I have never done before. She makes me consider different, but beneficial, perspectives. She makes my face light up like a damn Christmas tree even from something as small as receiving one of her texts.

I’ve been afraid of breaking my rules for her, going against my principles for her. I thought it would protect both of us in the end. But it has done the opposite, leading to us both hurting without each other. 

Even though, for me, everything has to follow a set of rules, I know that I have made my own rules throughout the years. It’s similar to following a set recipe. There is a specific process that follows a basic formula, which I can compare to the rules of the world. But there are times when I do tend to add my own ingredients or spices. These are my self-made rules. And these usually improve upon the recipe, making it more rich and flavorful. With Zyra, I now know that I’m not making an exception or breaking my own rules. I now know that she has contributed to my life like the tweaking of a recipe. She’s enhanced my life for the better, adding new flavors that stimulate my taste buds and senses, making me see and trust different ways to follow the recipe, and showing me that I don’t have to make the recipe alone. 

Right now, it feels she’s given me a small taste of her trust again. And I want to try to give myself to her, my full, complete self. I want to deserve her trust. I want to deserve her. And I want to be here for her.

_I’m here, Zyra. As long as you’ll let me. I’m here._

We’ve both been sitting together, locked against each other. I ignore my vibrating pager on my hip. I’m currently leaning back against the wall with Zyra nestled between my legs and against my chest. She has now gone completely silent. I can barely hear her breathe, but I can still feel the warmth of her body. I want to give her this moment if it’ll help her heal. But I wonder if she is ready to open up to me, or talk to me about what she is feeling. With this small amount of trust she has provided, I want to see if I can further help her.

“How are you feeling?” I ask in a gentle tone. “I’m so sorry about everything you’re going through with your father’s passing.”

She is motionless. But her silence gives me the answer I need. She doesn’t trust me enough to talk.

She finally moves against me and leans away. I reluctantly release her hand, and she begins to wipe at her face. Her eyes are still glistening with tears, but they’ve calmed to her more gentle brown. Her eyes shift a bit before they settle on mine. As our gazes cling to each other, I can see a conflict in the way she is looking at me. Her brow furrows a bit and her lips part slightly. Something flickers far back in her eyes.

Before I can identify it, she stands and smooths out her clothes. 

I try to follow her but I feel a sharp pain in my lower back. It keeps me on the floor against the wall. I curse under my breath. My hand instinctively reaches behind me, bracing my back.

“Ethan, what’s wrong?” Zyra kneels in front of me. Her hand falls onto my knee. 

Of course my back has to act up now. Zyra doesn’t need an additional thing to worry about. This is supposed to be about her, not me. 

“Ah, nothing some ibuprofen couldn’t take care of,” I reply, trying to hide my wincing behind a smile. 

“Is it your back?” Her concern then shifts to a glint of amusement in her eye. “Age catching up to you, old man?” She stands up and holds her hand out to me. 

I shake my head and let out a low, raspy chuckle, while taking her hand. “We’re both millennials, Zyra.” 

“Well, one of us is on the further end of the millennial spectrum than the other,” she teases with that irresistible smile of hers. It’s almost as if the prior incident had never happened, except for the puffy eyes and remaining tear tracks staining her cheeks. 

Taking my hand in hers, she grips my wrist with her other hand and begins pulling me to my feet. Even in her fragile form, she still carries an unwavering physical strength. I brace my other hand against the wall for balance. As I stand, I lean back against the wall for a moment before I stretch my arms over my head. 

“You should probably get that looked at. Where does it hurt?”

“Just my lower back. It’s fine.” I turn to face her. I don’t want her making a move behind me and trying to examine me for herself. “But I suggest you take the rest of the day off.”

I watch as a small pout forms on her lips, but then it quirks back into a smile. “Only if you promise me to get your back looked at.”

My eyes brighten at her words. I answer with a soft laugh. “Fine,” I say, returning her smile. 

That same flicker far back in her eyes returns. She moves towards me, almost hesitant as if second-guessing herself. Then she rises to her toes and plants a kiss against my cheek, touching my skin like a whisper. I close my eyes, savoring its lingering warmth that sends currents of desire across my body. It opens memories of the intimacy of our past kisses, and exacerbates my need for her even more. I’m tempted to turn my head and capture her lips with mine. But I must be patient and regain her full trust. I will only take what she gives me. And right now, this is enough.

Then I hear her whisper softly into my ear. 

“Thank you.”

I catch her expression before she sprints down the stairs and through the door, never once looking back at me. Her expression was questioning, almost hinting on regret. I could sense the dark cloud return to cover her with shadows. As I watch the door close behind her, all I’m left with is a feeling that I couldn’t do more for her.

* * *

Zyra’s been a constant in my mind these past few days after our incident in the stairwell. We haven’t even spoken about it. I try to ask how she’s doing, but each time she responds to me in the exact same way: “I’m fine.” And to ensure that I don’t try to continue the topic of conversation, she adds a small, tentative smile—which she easily fakes—and then addresses me as Dr. Ramsey. She carries on through the day with her cheerfulness towards her patients, her professionalism towards the interns, and her camaraderie with the team and fellow residents. She easily laughs and smiles, and I wonder how much of it is performative and how much of it is real. There are rare moments, like that one day I observed her sitting on a bench outside, where she submits to her pain. 

I want her to open up to me like she used to. I also want her to know that I’m here for her, but I don’t think that is something she would even believe. Not from me anyway. And I deserve every bit of distance and privacy she maintains with me. I do hope that she’ll give me the opportunity to apologize, to make it up to her, and to try to gain her trust back. 

Currently, the only interaction I can have is when working with her. We do sometimes lock eyes, and I can see hers grow soft while she’s fighting back a smile. _There’s still something there_. 

We’ve remained on Mr. Thorton’s case together, so I can act as her mentor and boss without complications. She’s effectively apologized to Mr. Thorton for her outburst. Because he appears to have a schoolboy crush on her, he forgave her immediately. I’m sure she’s aware of it. But I see the way his eyes light up when she walks in, the way his handshake lingers longer than normal, the way his eyes sweep along her body, and the way her name sounds foreign against his tongue. Zyra even says more words to him in a single session than she has said to me in an entire day. I have these moments when I feel my face burn, my fists clench at my side, my mental voice egging me on to punch this _boy_. And I am quite tempted to see the impression my fist leaves on his bratty face. 

I’m getting more distracted by her each and every day, leading to my becoming more annoyed and frustrated. I have plans on Saturday, but I’m not in the mood to socialize with people, _especially_ if they are my colleagues. With my day off coming up, I want to spend it alone with a nice bottle of scotch and possibly a motorcycle ride along the waterfront. Bike ride first, of course. 

I’m returning from Naveen’s office, letting him know I will not be attending his planned dinner for the department heads tomorrow night. Even while trying to emphasize the dinner’s importance, he couldn’t persuade me. He was a bit upset, but he will get over it. I’m on my way to another office—Harper’s. 

Her door is closed, unlike Naveen’s which is always propped open when he’s in. He wants to be the approachable Chief. 

I knock and then enter when I hear a “come in.” Harper’s sitting at a small table in the corner of her office next to a window overlooking the hospital garden. It has two chairs. It is covered with charts and scans. This is what she uses when having conversations with others. 

“Am I interrupting?”

Harper looks up from a scan she is holding. “No, not at all. Just preparing for my surgery in an hour.”

I close the door behind me and take the empty seat at the table.

I barely glance at the scan and can already determine what’s in it. “Brain tumor?”

“Yes. Thankfully, we caught it in time. Easy removal from the temporal lobe. So hopefully no permanent damage to my patient’s hearing.” She puts the scan down on top of the pile of other documents. “What do I owe this pleasure, Ethan?”

“I’m bailing on the dinner tomorrow. I hope you have a contingency for a ride.”

Harper’s lips are pursed. The nail of her index finger taps rhythmically against the table, as she stares long and hard at me. The color of her irises have darkened into a warm chestnut. “It’s fine. I can ask Victor,” she finally says with an edge of disappointment laced in her tone. 

“Fitzgerald,” I scoff when mentioning his name.

“Do I sense jealousy?” She sounds a bit more amused. 

“Not at all. He’s only an arrogant ass who believes surgeons should be idolized like gods.”

“Oh? Well, with someone who is as skilled as Victor, he deserves to be cocky once in a while. He is Chief of Surgery after all.” She clasps her hands together on the table top. A smirk teases on the edge of her mouth. 

“And a condescending ass during consultations.”

“Well, I happen to respect and admire him, just like another condescending ass I know.” Her smirk reveals itself. 

I roll my eyes and stand up. “I have things to do. I only wanted to inform you about tomorrow.”

Before I can move towards the door, Harper gently grasps my arm. I turn around and find her standing next to me. “Are you alright? You usually give me your rare Ethan laugh at such a comment. Is this about why you’re not attending tomorrow?” 

Her hand paints my arm with tender strokes of her fingertips. I can see concern wash over her face, as she searches my expression for an answer. But there is no way I would ever open up to her about Zyra and how I want to enfold her in my arms and keep her safe and close. 

“I’m fine, Harper. Just… work issues. Nothing out of the ordinary.” 

“Well,” she begins, as her hands roam up my body and stop against the sides of my face. Her fingertips comb through the hairs along my jawline. “I wonder why you never grew a beard before. It’s… different.”

She leans into me, her lips drawing close to mine. I panic at her advances and grab her wrists. My brain is willing my hands to pull her away, but they only linger there, curled around the delicate, warm skin of her wrists. She may believe my touch to be receptive because she doesn’t stop.

“Maybe this can help you feel better… and change your mind about tomorrow.”

She steals a kiss. Her eyes close as her lips move at a soft pace against mine. She tastes like hazelnut and coffee.

“… _Harper_ ,” I mumble. I’m not even tempted to return it. I pull her hands away and take a step back. “Stop. What are you doing?”

She places a hand over her mouth, as if trying to hide a criminal act committed by her lips. 

“I’m sorry, I thought—”

“You thought what?” I’m annoyed because kissing anyone else but Zyra makes me feel like I’ve betrayed her all over again. 

“It’s something I’ve had on my mind for awhile.” Her eyes flick to the ground. Her fingers trace the curves of her lips. “You and me.” 

“Harper,” I say quiet and tense, which makes her look up. “There is no more you and me. We made sure of that once you became Chief.”

“Well, I’m not Chief anymore.” She places a hand on her hip, her confidence now returning. 

“It’s not like that ever stopped you anyway,” I accuse in a bitter tone, while folding my arms across my chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes narrow. Her fingers tighten against her hip. 

“Don’t stand there and act like you never used your position as Chief and our past relationship to get me to do what you wanted.”

She steps towards me with both hands now on her hips. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing.” Her face is close to mine again, but this time I can see anger searing through her.

“Forcing me to go to rep meetings with you. Making me do _your_ competition with _my_ team. I know you only did it with your niece winning in mind.” I try to keep my tone controlled, but I can feel heat in my cheeks. “All it took was one cheek caress and one kiss for me to agree with you.”

“Don’t act like you’re all innocent, Ethan. With what you did with Zyra—”

“Don’t you dare bring her into this!” Just her name coming out of Harper’s mouth turns my annoyance into anger that I can no longer control. “You’re the one who used me as Chief. I wouldn’t do that with my resident.”

“Oh, really? Then maybe you could explain why you took her to the conference in Miami last year. What did you promise her as her attending? How often did you use her to do your bidding when trying to save Naveen’s life? And why do you think I wouldn’t let you defend her at the hearing? You were too close to her.” She gives me a hostile glare with anger lit in her eyes. “Now, you can’t tell me that you _didn’t_ use your position to get her to do what you wanted.”

My muscles tighten so hard that my folded arms begin to dig into my chest. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” my voice hisses. 

“If you’re going to make these accusations against me, then you’d better explain yourself or else you’re just a hypocrite.” She throws the words at me like stones. 

When she became Chief, I fought her just like any administrator. I fought her for the benefits of my patients. And she understood why I did and expected it from me. But this fight is personal. Too personal. If we continue, I don’t know what else she may say about Zyra. Stopping this conversation, this fight, is a way I can protect her. 

“Harper, I—.” I run a hand over my face. “I can’t do this.”

She doesn’t say a word, but only continues glaring at me until I can see in her eyes the moment she is ready to respond. “Yeah, well, neither can I. But you need to go. I have a surgery soon.” 

Before I can move, there’s a knock on the door and Lahela peeks his head through.

“Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Emery. I’m here to go over—” He then notices my presence. “Oh, hey, Ramsey.”

Harper motions Lahela over with a hand. “We’re done here. Come on in.” She then returns to her seat, not once looking at me. 

“You coming to the gym on Tuesday? It’s been a minute since Rafael and I’ve seen you there.”

I walk past him without responding.

* * *

The temperature drops. The earthy odor from the Charles River wafts inside my helmet. I roll the throttle back and accelerate. The power of the motorcycle hums between my legs. 

I weave through a handful of cars like I’m trying to escape each of my fears. I lean into the turn that takes me to the road along the waterfront and the harbor. 

I should be at the dinner, but I’d rather be here. It’s a path I’ve taken many times because it’s the closest to the peace I felt riding along the Amazon River. I can let my mind drift away from work, Dad, Naveen, Harper… but not Zyra. Never Zyra. 

I pull up near a diner. It’s a small but tasty joint that serves the best BLT in the city. I like to smear a layer of butter on the top piece of bread. When I remove my helmet, I can almost smell the sizzling bacon and the hot, melting butter waiting for me. I can also feel the cool night air more clearly against my face. I close my eyes and take it all in before I run a hand through my helmet hair to tame its disheveled appearance. I then dismount.

I walk along the street-lighted sidewalk towards the diner until a person standing in my path makes me freeze in my tracks. Her familiar chocolate-brown eyes are wide. Her mouth open, readying to say something. And she does. My name. 

Out of all the places I could have been tonight. Out of all the nights I could have decided to take a ride. Out of all the nights I could have stopped for dinner at this particular diner. She had to be here on this night. And it is the most welcoming coincidence that makes me break out into a smile—a real, honest smile. 

“Hello, Zyra.” 


	15. The Truth (CALL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Zyra in the hospital, she receives an unexpected visit from Ethan. But this visit may be the very thing she needs to finally begin to move on from him.

I don’t remember much after leaving the theater. I remember the burning sensation in my lungs. The pounding in my temples like the tick of a clock. The uncontrollable quake in my right arm. The haunting memories. _Papa. Ethan._ And then the darkness ending it all. 

When I woke up, I felt the lag in my muscles as I tried to move, the drowsiness as I tried to look around through a blurred vision. When it finally adjusted, I saw that I was alone behind aqua curtains. This wasn’t Edenbrook. Our curtains are more of a pale blue. I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV drip and electrode pads on my chest. There was a blanket covering me because I had no shirt on. 

In the back of my mind, I heard a little voice ever so faintly say, _I wish I’d never woken up._

When the doctor arrived, I saw the Mass Kenmore logo on his white coat. Then I realized I was in the ER. How did I get here? Perhaps it was better to be here than at my workplace. No one could intrude on my privacy, and I didn’t need anymore gossip about me going around the hospital. 

They moved me into a room to observe me over night. The plan is to discharge me in the morning. I was also advised to take all of next week off to recuperate. 

Once they moved me into my room, I finally saw my friends. I kept apologizing for ruining the movie. I received a lot of hugs and “thank goodness you’re okays” in response. Since Phoebe is our neighbor, she offered to help me with anything while my roommates are at work. Keiki also offered and texted me her number. 

After a while, everyone slowly started to filter out until only Bryce, his sister, and Aurora were left. 

They’ve been sitting with me, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted. Bryce has been telling some embarrassing childhood stories about him and Keiki. His sister looks up from her phone from time to time and rolls her eyes before returning to scrolling through her screen. 

His stories are a welcome distraction. Even Aurora is finding them amusing. She hasn’t once gotten up from the chair at my bedside. 

Bryce collects his jacket and slips it on. 

“Sora and Rafael are gonna pick you up when you get discharged,” he tells me, as he places his hand on my shoulder. “Just text Raf once you get the confirmation.” 

I just nod and give him an appreciative smile. He leans over and kisses my forehead. It is surprisingly gentle. With the way it lingers, I can’t tell if it’s friendly or something more. If I wasn’t pumped up on anti-anxiety meds, I would feel a rush of panic right now, setting off my ECG reading on the heart monitor. 

“Thanks, Bryce. Keiki.” I give them both a weak wave before they leave and disappear out into the corridor. 

Aurora pats my hand. “And then there was one.”

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine,” I say. 

“Nah. I want to. Besides, I was going to get some hours in tomorrow anyway.”

We exchange a smile that has become uniquely our own. One of a deepening friendship.

“Do you want me to text Sienna and let her know?” Aurora asks.

I hesitate with my answer. Sienna and I haven’t been on speaking terms much since our argument at Donahue’s. 

“That’s okay. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Okay then.” She stands up for the first time. “I’m probably going to head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat though. Need anything before I go?”

I have the bed positioned so that I’m sitting upright. I can see my bag on the floor beside the bed table parked at my left. “Yeah, um, could you grab my journal from my bag,” I ask while pointing towards it.

Aurora raises an eyebrow questioningly. She searches through my bag and pulls out my recent issue of _The American Journal of Medicine_. She holds it up to me. “This?”

“Yeah.” I hold my hand out.

She shakes her head, a wry smile quirks her mouth, while approaching me and hands me the issue. “And I thought I was bad.”

I’m left with my reading after she leaves. It’s quiet now. The corridor lacks the rush of foot traffic. Every one of my friends have left. Even the sound to my heart monitor is turned off. I can feel myself beginning to submit to the serenity of the environment. My eyelids feel heavy. 

I haven’t even read one word. 

But the silence and emptiness of the room begin to feel like a dark vacuum, filled with only the repeated memories of those I’ve lost. I force my eyes to remain open. If I close my eyes, I will see their faces again. Each and every one of them. And I don’t know if the medication will be enough to keep them at bay. 

That short moment of peacefulness disappears. I only feel my fear and grief. 

_I’m truly alone._

My hand searches around for the remote to call the nurse. I need more medicine. I want to be knocked out. I want to feel numb. I want to forget about everything, even just for the remainder of the night. I want to drown in the quiet slumber of darkness and awake to the memory of nothing. 

Please. Give me this peace of mind.

The moment my hand finds the remote, I hear a soft knock. 

I look towards the door and see the one person I would have least expected. Why is he here? Why isn’t he with Harper? 

Ethan is standing in the doorway, his hand resting against the doorframe. I feel my own hand grow limp against the remote. Just the sight of him makes my heart feel heavy with sorrow.

“Hi,” he greets. He remains motionless at the door, studying me for a long moment, then asks, “Can I come in?”

I blink a few times with the weight of my eyelids feeling lighter. “How did you find me?”

“Does it matter?” 

_Of course it matters._ I get flashbacks of him standing at my doorstep in Colorado. The fear of his emotional push-pull dance is now in the forefront of my mind, and I can feel the fear of it flood my body. 

_Ethan, I need you to leave._ The words beat against my mind, but I can’t open my mouth to say them.

He finally drops his hand to his side and takes slow strides to cross the room towards me. When he reaches my bedside, he shifts his gaze from me to the journal resting across my abdomen. He picks it up. His eyes quickly scan across the opened pages. “You should be resting, not studying.” He sets it down on the table next to my bed. 

“I always read before bed. It acts as a sleeping stimulant,” I say, my voice suddenly empty. 

“Depending on how dry some of these articles can be, I wouldn’t argue against that.” I witness a slight smirk twitch at the edge of his mouth. But his gaze rests on the journal, his fingers lingering on the cover. His other hand rests in his pocket. His shoulders slightly slumped forward.

“So, did you come to gloat? Tell me ‘I told you so’?”

His head snaps towards me. His expression is first of shock but then turns somber. 

“Zyra…” His voice softens.

He sits on the bed close to me. But he does it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against mine, while his other slides loosely in his lap. Because I’m sitting upright, we are nearly at eye level, and I can easily see the stormy grey of his eyes. They’re no longer the crystal blues I’m most familiar with. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, finally placing his hand on top of mine, his fingers curling underneath against my palm. It’s familiar warmth nearly makes me gasp out loud. “Your hand feels better.”

I shouldn’t allow myself to accept his closeness, especially after witnessing his kiss with Harper. Especially _that_. I feel Ethan doesn’t know what—or who—he wants. But I also know I don’t have the strength to pull my hand away from his touch.

We sit there quietly. My eyes slowly flick between his hand and his face. His focus is only on my hand, as his thumb caresses along my knuckles. His brows are drawn together in a pensive frown. 

“I have to take all of next week off. Doctor’s orders.” I tell him, acting as if he’s just my boss right now.

“Perhaps the doctors here aren’t as hopeless as I thought,” he says with a humorous chuckle. But I don’t have the urge to join him. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a strained voice.

He finally raises his eyes to mine. His expression is now void of any false amusement.

“I was worried. I thought I— _I’d lost you_.” His voice nearly cracks, as his hand tightens against mine.

I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them, I have the strength in my words that my body currently lacks. 

“Ethan,” I take in a deep breath and open my eyes, catching his worried gaze. “The truth is you lost me a long time ago.”

A deep pain flashes in his eyes. I can feel something similar in mine. 

His gaze drops to our hands. “I know.” He speaks the words in a low, anguished voice.

A sudden unspeakable pain grips me by the throat. I begin to stroke the inside of his wrist with a finger to soothe him, myself, or both of us. I honestly don’t know the reason.

“If I really think about it, it seems we only truly connected during times of tragedies. We truly began getting close during Dolores’ passing. Then there was Naveen, Mrs. Martinez, my hearing, your parents, my father’s death. How can whatever we have survive outside of any of this?”

“You know it was more than that. So much more.”

“I don’t know anymore. But you’re only trying to be close to me now because I’m in the hospital.”

He grows silent, looking almost defeated. His grip loosens on my hand. 

“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” I say, biting my lip to hold back the tears stinging my eyes. “But you were right about one thing.” My jaw trembles. “I thought I could put my own needs aside. For my family, for the team, for my intern, my patients. I finally broke. I’m no help to any of them right now.”

I turn my head to the side, trying to swallow the sob in my throat. 

“I’m so sorry… for everything. I fucked everything up between us. I should have tried harder to help you the moment I noticed your symptoms.”

“Well, I wasn’t much open to your help.” I gulp hard, continuing to fight back the hot tears from slipping down my cheeks.

“Because I lost your trust.”

“Because you broke my heart!” I say sharply. I finally have the strength to pull my hand away from his.

His entire body tenses, as his breath catches. The hurt and guilt lay naked in his eyes. 

“ _You_ were right, Zyra. I’ve been nothing but a coward,” he says, looking away from me. “And the consequences of my actions, or inactions, have only led to hurting you.” He drops his head into his hands. “But I should have tried harder. I was just afraid that if I pushed, it would have made things worse between us. I feel like I failed you.”

I can’t help but feel heartbroken looking at his dejected form. Not even the curves of his toned muscles tight against his clothes or the size of his body can hide how small he has become. 

“I thought I was angry with you. But I was really angry with myself.” I reach out my hand to touch his shoulder, but then I quickly withdraw it. “I was angry for trusting you and letting you in again.” 

I know this doesn’t help with his pain. But it’s the only truth I have to give. He lifts his head from his hands, but stares across the room. 

“But I’m not angry anymore. I’m not. I’m just—” I can feel the twitch in my hand return. “I’m just mourning the loss of my father. The disarray of my family. Kyra. The fall out with my best friend.” My hand twitches again. “ _Losing you_ ,” I murmur in a voice that holds its own tremor. I know he feels the faint twitch this time because he turns to me and envelopes my hand between his. “It’s been all too much. Too much at once. I thought I could handle it. I thought…”

Ethan leans into me, gathering me into his arms. The feel of his embrace is almost unbearable in its tenderness. I have no desire to back out of it. Not yet. 

He drops his head to my shoulder. His breath fans against my neck like a comforting summer breeze. “I’m here. I’m here, Zyra.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing he hadn’t said those words. “I know, but you _can’t_ be here. It hurts too much.” I gently push against his chest. He rises, only inches away from me. His hands linger on my sides. When we look at each other, his eyes are red, and I can feel tears bordering mine.

I place a hand over his heart. My fingers caress slowly against his sweater, savoring the softness of the cotton.

“Ethan, your heart’s in the right place. You just have to figure out what it’s trying to tell you. Sometimes you need to listen more to it than this.” I tap a finger against his temple. “But, I can’t be there when you finally figure it out. I can’t. I can’t go back to that. It’s too painful.”

I can see the heartbreak across his face. And I feel my own return like that same ripping of muscle. 

“We’ve missed our window of opportunity. You’ll thank me one day when you’re finally with the right person.”

He’s silent, but I can hear his mind turning. “I made so many mistakes.”

“We both did. But it’s better this way. We both know that.”

I lean back against the bed, as he releases his hands from around my sides. His expression doesn’t look like one of understanding, but more like he got some kind of confirmation.

“At least we’re on the same page now,” he says calmly, which contrasts with the silent distress in his eyes. He slowly lifts himself off the bed to stand. He looks down at me, a question looming large in his mind. “Are they discharging you tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need—”

“Ethan, we can’t go back to that.”

“Yes. Of course,” he agrees, smiling sadly.

I know this man has hurt me more times than I can count. And I know there is no possible way we could ever explore our feelings, let alone be in a committed relationship of any kind. But I am a diagnostician and reading others is what I’m trained to do. This helps me to better understand a patient’s situation and best help with their diagnosis. In Ethan’s case, I’ve been trying to understand why he always found excuses to push me away, to run away from me, to disappear to the Amazon. But after meeting his dad, talking to Ethan about his mom, I understand. It doesn’t justify his behavior towards me, but it’s painted a better picture of this troubled, brilliant man. And if this is the last time we will ever be open with each other, then this is the last chance I have to tell him. And with it, I hope it can help him with this deep-rooted pain that he has been carrying around with him. 

Because even if I no longer trust him, and even if we can’t be together, I still care about him and his happiness. 

“Ethan, can I tell you something?”

He doesn’t move to leave, but simply nods.

“Do you remember the first time you took me to your secret coffee shop?” I give him the first smile since his arrival. “Remember how we observed people and guessed their behaviors?”

“They weren’t guesses. They were accurate observations.”

“Yes. You’re right.” I softly chuckle. “But we also told each other what we observed about the other. For you, you’ve carried an anger in you for so long that you’ve gotten used to it.”

He looks shocked. It’s the opposite of his calm reaction when I had told him the same exact observation on that day. 

“I’m not June. I’m not a psychologist, but I think this deep seated anger is because of your mother.”

His shock visibly vanishes, but I see his jaw clench. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even try to stop me from continuing. 

“You say you feel nothing for your mother. That she’s nothing but a stranger to you. But what I really think is that you’ve been running away from your feelings about what she did to you. You’ve been running away from them for so long that when things get hard or scary in your relationships, you’ve learned that the only answer is to run away because you don’t want to be hurt again. You’ve been trying to protect your heart. And you use your rules to make sense of the world around you because your mother leaving you and your dad’s love for your mother don’t make sense.”

His fists bunch against the sides of his legs.

“You’re afraid of getting close to someone, letting someone in, because you’re afraid that you won’t matter to them. Because you feel you don’t matter to your mother and even to your dad.”

I reach out and place my hand on his arm.

“But you matter to _me_ ,” I whisper intimately, my eyes burning, my mouth becoming dry. “And you matter to Naveen, to your dad, to Reggie… to Harper, too.” 

Ethan’s expression turns entirely blank, but his face has turned pale. He drops into the chair as if his legs have given out from under him. He leans forward with his head dropped. My hand returns to his arm, comfortingly.

“Zyra…I—” He covers my hand with his.

I have the immediate urge to jump out of this bed and wrap my arms around his shoulders to show him how much he really does matter to me. But by telling him this, this is a form of my love for him. Yes, my love, even though I can never express it to him or ever be with him.

I watch him silently until he lifts his head with understanding flickering in his eyes. But as he looks at me as tears shimmer in his eyes, his gaze is as soft as a caress. Its warmth encloses around my broken heart, regretting the loss of what we could have had together.

“And here I was supposed to try to comfort you,” he lightly teases.

“It’s not your job,” I say with a note of remorse.

He runs a hand across his jaw and nods. Then he leans back into the chair and reaches for something in his jacket pocket. “I did bring you these. Can I at least leave these here for you?”

He reveals a pack of Geysers. 

“How could I say no to those?” I briefly laugh as I say it.

He gently places them on top of the journal.

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Will I still need a babysitter?”

“I’ll reassess when you return,” he replies with a subtle smirk.

I can feel his resistance to leave, or it’s my resistance against him leaving. Because when he does leave, I know this will finally be the end of Ethan and Zyra. Only Ramsey and Lewis will remain.

He breaks the lingering tension by finally standing up. 

“Goodbye, Zyra.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Ramsey.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Goodbye, Lewis,” he says in his professional tone.

He makes it to the doorway, but stalls. Then he looks over his shoulder at me. 

“And for the record, _you_ shouldn’t fear about ending up alone and only having yourself to count on. You still have a support network in your life. You won’t drown here on your own, Lewis. You won’t.” 

It’s his own observation about me from that day in the coffee shop. He says it with such confidence that I almost believe him. 

Now I’m the one left in shock, as I watch him exit and leave me for good. 

It’s as it should be, but it doesn’t hurt any less. Before I can even begin to think about succumbing to the lingering sob in my throat and the burning tears in my eyes, I hear his voice in the hallway.

“Back off, Tobias.”

A mere seconds later, I then see Tobias walk into my room.  
  
“Now I see why Ethan was here.” But his usual cockiness and smug expression are absent. “You doing okay?” He comes to take a seat in the empty chair left by Ethan. 

“You’re not going to brag about my using Mass Kenmore services and not Edenbrook’s?”

“Doesn’t seem fitting, wouldn’t you agree?” He reclines back in the seat, stretching his legs out, and crossing them at the ankles.

I turn my head away from him, looking up at the ceiling. Perhaps there is some compassion inside of him. I then bite my lip. I won’t allow myself to cry in front of him. If I can hold myself back in front of Ethan, I can definitely do it in front of… _Ethan’s old friend_. 

A thought crosses my mind. 

“Can you do something for me?”

“Need a snack? Help to the bathroom? More meds?”

The meds are tempting, but I shake my head. “Ethan’s going to need a friend right now.” I then turn my head back towards him, my eyes stinging. “Can you put your petty competitiveness aside and remember why you two were like brothers in the first place?”

I observe his expression. It’s the most serious I’ve ever seen. He then lifts himself up from the chair.

“I’ll be around for another hour in case you need anything,” he says, avoiding any response to my request. “See ya around, Zyra.” He pats the doorjamb as he leaves.

Now that I’m alone again, my anguish peaks and shatters the last ounce of my control. I finally allow myself to cry. All I can feel is grief and despair tear at my heart. I roll over onto my side, burying my face into the pillow. 

“Zyra?”

I hear Aurora’s voice, but I don’t even peek out. The weight shifts on the bed, and I feel her arms around me, her body spooning me from behind. 

“I saw Ethan come in this direction when I left. I don’t even think he recognized me as I passed by. His mind seemed elsewhere.”

Hearing his name makes my sobs burst.

“So it is true then? You and Ethan?”

“ _Was_ true,” I choke out.

“I’m so sorry.” My hand twitches turn into a slight tremble. Aurora grips my hand to hold it steady. “But it’s kinda awkward knowing you were with my aunt’s ex.”

“I hadn’t even considered that.”

“Well, let’s not. For both our sakes.”

I try to fight against the laughter that bubbles up in my throat. But I fail.


	16. The Truth (WITHHOLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A serendipitous meeting finally gets Ethan and Zyra talking. It may be the very thing she needs to finally begin to deal with her anger. But will Zyra be able to open up to him and confide in him like she used to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains strong sexual content due to a scene with rough sex.

I only see his mouth move. The words that he speaks are muted by the shock radiating through my body. If the slight breeze in the air were stronger, it would knock me down and out. 

But I take a few hesitant steps forward, gripping the strap of my bag like a security line. When I stop, we’re about a few feet away, but I can catch a whiff of his scent and feel the warmth leap off his body. I want to bask in it again just like in the stairwell. But mostly, I want to sink into his body with his strong, protective arms enfolding me. 

I hadn’t told Sienna the more intimate details. It’s because I don’t even know what to make of the situation yet. It felt more like we were falling back into old habits, returning to the parts of us that worked. Then I think about the parts of us that didn’t work, and that brings up my lack of trust for him. 

But I can’t deny the elated feeling that has risen inside of me with him standing right here. I also feel relief.

“What a coincidence,” I say, returning his smile. 

“Indeed it is.” His eyes brim with warmth.

There’s a comfortable silence that flows between us. 

“So, how’s the back?” I ask.

“Just a muscle sprain.” He shrugs. “Nothing serious.”

“So you’re okay with riding that then?” I motion towards his motorcycle.

He turns his head and stills for a second. His gaze then shifts back to me.

“Of course.” His smile grows wider.

“You really are a new Ethan Ramsey, aren’t you?” 

His smile falls away and a shadow comes over his face. His gaze is far, almost as if he’s looking beyond me. He knits his eyebrows, seemingly contemplating some secret pain. 

I reach out and rest a hand on his arm. “Ethan?” 

The far distant look in his eyes disappears, and he refocuses on me. Only the ghost of his previous smile crosses his lips. 

“I should take you for a ride one day.”

I stare at him, observing his slow change in expression. Then I let my hand slide down his arm to gently grasp his hand.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I squeeze his hand and then reluctantly let go.

Ethan stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I shouldn’t keep you.”

“It’s okay. I was just going home to study. I came from the diner over there. Ordered a BLT but couldn’t eat it. No surprise there,” I say with a slight laugh.

He stares, complete surprise on his face.

“What?” 

“You left a perfectly good BLT?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He cracks a grin. “That was exactly my entire purpose for coming here.”

“A BLT?” 

“One of the best.” He continues grinning.

“Well, chalk it up to coincidence number two for tonight.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “If you’re fast enough, it might still be on the table.”

He bursts out laughing. “Am I supposed to be responsible for your leftovers now?”

“Maybe,” I say teasingly. 

It’s now becoming too easy to get lost in the soft way he is looking at me and in the ease of our light-hearted banter. I can’t remember the last time we’ve spoken like this. And have we always laughed this easily with each other? My memories are clouded and have been replaced by my more recent tragic ones. 

It may have been our time in the stairwell that has begun to chip away at the ice around my heart in regards to him. He’s also been nothing but kind and understanding since I’ve been back. But I’m also afraid with how fleeting all this can be. Even though I know I should say my farewell and walk right past him without looking back, there’s also this magnetic pull that keeps bringing me back to him. And right now, it’s making my heart jolt and my pulse pound. 

“How about that ride?”

“Huh?” I blink in surprise. “What? Now?”

“Yes.” He searches my face, waiting for my decision. “Only if you trust me.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that. It’s been the very ire of my conflict with him. But I think he realizes the double meaning because a look of regret passes over his features.

My glaze flicks between him and the motorcycle. 

“Sure,” I say with excitement laced in my voice, hoping to lighten the mood.

His expression flickers with something resembling delight, and I follow behind him towards his new ride. I feel my nerves kick in the closer we get. My eyes sweep across the length of the motorcycle, admiring the sleek, modern design. It also looks expensive. _Very_ expensive.

He grabs his helmet and hands it to me. 

“What about you?” 

“Your safety is more important.” He gives me a half smile before straddling the bike. “Come on, Rookie.”

Rookie? I used to find that an endearing nickname during my intern year, but then it became associated with my failures during my second year. He isn’t trying to scold me now, is he? Or is it because I’ve never ridden one of these?

I push some of my hair off to the side to slide the helmet over my head. I slowly straddle the bike while holding onto Ethan’s shoulders. I wrap my arms around his waist, my chest pressed against his back. I’ve seen this in many movies, so this must be right.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder at me.

“Just hang on.” 

The motorcycle roars to life. As Ethan pulls out, I gasp. I tighten my grip around him, my entire body tensing. My fingers dig into his tight abs, and I feel him flinch. 

I slam my eyes shut as we begin traveling down the road. I peek out from one eye and watch as the buildings and lights fly by us. I force both of my eyes open and look around. 

Then it all hits me at once. 

The beating of cool air against my bare hands and neck. The rush of adrenaline. The exhilaration of the vast night sky surrounding us. The smooth sensation of the road against the track of the tires. The vibrant breath of life howling from the engine. The calming warmth of Ethan’s body.

It feels almost freeing.

Then I do what I see in movies. 

I raise my arms out from my sides, like I’m flying, giving myself to the full exhilarating rush of the openness ahead. 

“Whoohoo!” 

Ethan makes a turn and I immediately resume clinging to him for safety. We slow down and stop near a path along the harbor. 

I hop off. My body is elated by the adrenaline. I pull off the helmet.

“Oh my god! That was amazing!”

Ethan remains posed on the bike, observing me with his handsome grin. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He points to his hair, then to me. 

I look at him baffled. 

Then it hits me. 

I hurry next to him and look at myself in the side mirror. Of course, helmet hair. The fun thing about my hair texture is that it’s quite malleable. I can’t help but laugh at the sight. 

“So, what made you decide to get into motorcycles?” I ask, while fluffing out my curls with my fingers. I glance at him through the mirror. His expression is thoughtful. 

“I rode a motorcycle for the first time when I was in Brazil. I found the entire process soothing as I rode along the Amazon River. So I got one when I returned. I like to ride it along the waterfront from time to time.”

The mention of Brazil and the Amazon ignites the pain and anger that I’ve nearly forgotten during our ride. And right now, I don’t think I can remain silent. I don’t think I can hold back. I also think I’m about to ruin whatever moment we were having.

“I was so worried about you.” I turn my back to him, noticing the harbor. It’s calm waters contrast with the storm being aroused inside of me. 

“What do you mean?”

“When you left. I had to hear it through the hospital grapevine that you were gone. You didn’t even have the decency to tell me yourself.” Anger and nerves begin to shake my voice. “And I was left scared out of my mind because I kept thinking what if something happened to you. What if you caught that virus over there? What if you had died and I never ever got to see you again.” The strength in my voice fades. “I never got to tell you…”

 _I love you_.

I turn around to face him, shooting him a furious look. 

“Do you have any idea what it was like learning you were gone? I honestly thought we were in a good place. That we would make _something_ work. But I was so wrong. _So_ terribly wrong.”

“Zyra, I’m sorry.”

My temper flares.

“No!” I point a finger at him. “This is what got us in this mess in the first place. All we had to do was talk, but you decided to believe fleeing was the better option. I’m just so tired of your apologies.” 

At this moment, I don’t care if I’ve hurt him or not. I march away from him, stopping at the fence separating me from the harbor. My heart is hammering, my thoughts racing dangerously. I stare out across the water and wrap my arms around myself, not because I’m cold, but because I’m trying to control my own anger and hurt. 

I haven’t been able to control a lot of things recently, but maybe I can control this.

I hear his soft footsteps approach me. My arms tighten around me. He stops at my side, sighs, and then leans forward onto the railing. 

“When you were gone, it gave me a lot of time to think.”

I glance at him from the side. “What? You didn’t get that time back in Brazil?” I shoot back.

I notice his hands clench into fists, but he doesn’t retort. 

“When I was in Brazil, I was rationalizing what was best for you. But when you left and I had to hear the news from Naveen, I was worried to the point of devastation. Then I realized how you must have felt. I understood that I was only hurting you. I thought I was being selfless, sacrificing my own desires for your benefit.”

I turn to look at him, but he continues staring straight ahead. 

“But you were right. I was only being selfish and…” He trails off.

“And what?”

“And scared. Scared of failing the people I give a damn about because I’m no good at relationships. It’s become a constant pattern of mine.”

My hand finds his. “Ethan…”

“But you were right about another thing. The truth is I don’t want to turn into my mother and abandon the few people left in my life.” He finally meets my gaze. “I hope you can forgive me one day because all I’ve done is continue to hurt you. You’re too damn important to me. And it’s my fault that you ever questioned it, or never knew that. It’s all on me and I’m terribly sorry for everything, Zyra.”

I take in his words, shocked by the depth of his feelings.

“I want to believe that. I do. And I want to try to trust you again.”

His eyes widen. “Is that what you truly want? Because I understand if you don’t.”

Although I’m overrun with anger, pain, and sympathy for him, I’m also scared. I’m so terrified of losing him. And it’s this fear that makes my jaw tremble and tears well in my eyes.

“The truth is I just want my best friend back. I miss him so much,” I confess as my voice breaks into sobs. 

He pulls me flush against him, gathering me into his arms and holding me protectively. 

“I’m here, Zyra. I’m here.” He caresses along my back. “I’ve missed you, too.”

I return his embrace, and bury my face in his chest. He gives me time to calm down. Once I do, I lean back into his arms and look up at him. 

“Jeez, how many times is this going to happen?” I meet his eyes and give a shy chuckle.

He wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. “As many times as you need.” 

I let out a content sigh. “So where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know. But hopefully forward.”

I smile to myself as he speaks. 

I leave his embrace and look back out across the harbor, finally able to appreciate the view. The lights from the buildings on the other side of the bay reflect like stars on the water. It’s truly one of the most beautiful parts of the city. I haven’t had a chance to really see the harbor since I’ve moved here.

“You know, I’m afraid to admit that you were right about something too. After seeing how my anger towards you has personally affected my work, I understand now. My professional development isn’t worth the risk.”

He grows quiet again and returns to leaning on the rail. 

“And I’m sorry for getting so angry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I understand.”

I match his posture and lean forward, my arm brushing against his. “I’m just so angry all the time. It’s like it’s just swallowing me whole. I’m so mad at the world. At everything.”

We look at each other with a knowing look.

“Anyway, with everything going on, I don’t think we should explore this right now." I motion between us. "But I'm open to your friendship and, of course, your constant hassling as my boss and mentor.” I nudge him in the side with my elbow, which makes him chuckle. “Plus I do need some time to learn to trust you again.”

He nods. “And I need time to figure out my own shit.”

“I know you will.” I rub his arm comfortingly. “And I’ll be here for you as you do.”

He smiles at me, which is almost as intimate as a kiss. “I’ll be here for you, too. Please know that.”

“I do,” I say softly. “Though, I’m going to have a busy third year if Edenbrook doesn’t go under. Rotations are coming up. Plus my board exams. The team cases, my regular cases.”

“Let’s not forget Chief Resident.”

I lift my head and stare at him in surprise. “You honestly think I could do that, too, with everything?”

“I know you can.” He drapes his arm across my shoulder, pulling me into his side. “The application will be out in a couple of weeks. I highly recommend you apply.”

“Only on one condition.”

“Another one?”

“You gotta buy another helmet because you’re gonna take me on motorcycle rides any time I want.”

Ethan’s laugh is full and hearty. “You truly are a pain in my ass.” He pulls me closer and kisses my temple. “How about we get you eating something first?”

I groan and nearly have the urge to push him away. “Not you, too.”

“Well, I could try to cook something for you.”

“You know, your dad told me you cook.” I try to change the focus of the topic to him.

“Dad’s gotta stop telling you all my secrets,” he says, amused.

“Well, there is one more.”

“Do I even want to know?” He glances down at me, arching an eyebrow.

“How the hell do you not know how to make pancakes?” I playfully slap his chest. He feigns pain, which makes me smile easily.

“I never learned how to get the right consistency in the batter.”

“You know, there are things called pancake mixes. They’re in these boxes in the baking aisle labeled in big letters ‘Pancake Mix’ and it has these things called instructions on the back.”

Ethan laughs so hard, his head lulls back.

“I prefer to make things from scratch,” he finally says. 

“Well, I could teach you then. And I’m guessing pancakes with chocolate chips for you.”

He smirks. “And butter. Lots of it.”

“You’re going to be taking cholesterol medicine in your 40s and well into your 50s.”

“We all have our vices. But it’ll be worth it. Besides, I’m sure I’ll have you around to make sure I take it.”

_Is he saying what I think he’s saying?_

The soft, gentle gleam in his eyes pins me to him. And with a slow, secret smile, I begin to understand.

* * *

I can’t see him. But I can feel the tight grip of his hand against the back of my head, holding it in place to keep my prying eyes away from him. I’m on all fours, gripping the edge of the bed.

I don’t resist. 

His hand slides down my head, his nails scraping along my scalp. His fingers get tangled in my kinky curls, and he pulls on my hair along his downward path, until his fingers graze the nape of my neck. The pressure increases against my skin, as he scratches my neck and down along my back. I moan in pleasure. My body arches, and my ass hikes higher into the air. He pauses at the small dip in my lower back.

His hand follows the curve of my ass cheek, and then it stops to cup it. His palm burns into my skin as if branding me as his. The possessive fire spreads throughout my body, and I’m tempted to look over my shoulder at him, hoping that his eyes are burning with the same erotic desire as mine. 

He gives my ass cheek a tight squeeze before slapping it with a strong force that makes me cry out. 

“Louder.” His commanding voice makes my body tingle from head to toe.

He strikes the opposite cheek with the same force and I do as he wants, my scream now a plea. My head remains forward, and I can only rely on my other senses as my body craves his demanding, masculine touch.

He anchors his hands around my hips, holding me in place. He nips along my flesh towards the center where my cheeks meet, and I gasp. The pain mixed with desire pools between my legs. 

I can feel his smile form against my burning skin. 

He slides two fingers along my folds, which sends a shiver from my core all the way up my spine. 

“You’re so fucking wet.” He growls. “But you can do better.”

He shoves a long finger inside my throbbing pussy. My hips buck forward, and my breath hitches. He then adds a second finger, stretching the walls of my body further. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust to the sensation and begins a fast, powerful rhythm that causes a loud moan to escape my lips. My fingers claw deeper into the bed.

I’m about to go over the edge, but then he pulls away, leaving me left to only whimper in need for more. 

“Not yet. You only come when I tell you to,” he says arrogantly, because he knows every muscle twitch, every breath, every change in my body temperature that leads to my release.

He slides his fingers out. I wait in anticipation for his next move. But I’m left with the void of his touch, and it frightens me. I push my ass back, as I’m met with the sensation of rough denim. 

He’s still in his jeans. 

The feel of him again makes me sigh in relief. And it’s not only the jeans I feel, but also his large, protruding bulge. It’s pulsating against the constricting fabric that I know is not strong enough to contain him. I rub my ass against it, teasing him. I hear him release a long, drawn-out groan. And then I feel a sharp pinch on my ass. I bite my lip and hiss. 

“No,” he scolds.

With a slight hesitation, I turn my head again to try to catch a sight of him. This time, his strong hand doesn’t restrain me. Instead, my gaze locks onto him with his eyes suddenly darkening. 

He had predicted this and wanted an audience. 

His fingers dipped in my juices are pressed against his lips. He parts his mouth open with his fingertips and begins to suck on them with a slow, steady purpose. The edges of his mouth curl upward into a wicked grin, as his eyes now taunt me.

He then licks his fingertips as if he’s just completed a meal. 

His fierce gaze still simmers against mine, further amplified by his smirk. He’s taking pleasure in knowing how fucking wet I would get just from the sight of him devouring his pussy-stained fingers. 

He’s never wrong.

Struck with an impatient need, I push against him again, rubbing my aching center against the hardness of his arousal buried beneath his jeans. If I continue long enough, he should give in and let me lose myself to the rawness of his length, thick and throbbing, as he fills me. 

I continue grinding against him, and I watch as his head slightly falls back, his chest begins to heave. Then he pushes me away before he can release the groan building in his throat. 

“You’re quite disobedient.” There’s an edge to his voice that heats my core. 

I’ve fallen onto my side, looking up at his powerful, well-muscled body. My eyes sweep down it, and they linger on the front of his pants, where I’ve left a soaking wet stain. 

Before I can take in more of him, he flips me onto my stomach, wraps a strong arm under me and across my waist, and hoists me back up on all fours. 

He’s far from done. 

He spreads my ass cheeks wide to meet my wet pussy. His tongue explores along my folds, and he moans in satisfaction at how wet I’ve become for him. He now tastes the wetness of my clit. With a combination of tongue and lips, he ignites a pure and explosive pleasure that had been building inside me for months. My breath releases in long, surrendering moans. I drop to my forearms and spread my thighs a bit more to give him more access.

He tortures me as I wait for him to add pressure to the right spot. He knows my body better than anyone, and right now, his game has become cruel. 

I writhe against his mouth, but he slaps my ass again. One cheek. Then the other. I bite my lip and whimper quietly. The heat and pain forces me to stay obedient for him. 

The flat of his tongue lays against my entrance, and he begins licking it. My entire body stiffens. His tongue makes a slow trek upwards, across my anus, my lower back and up the length of my spine. The warmth of his tongue helps soothe the scratches along my back. I shudder in delight.

He stops between my shoulder blades. His body is firm and hot against mine. One of his hands grips my chin. I feel his breath hot against my ear as he whispers in a low, husky tone.

“ _Never forget who’s in control_.”

With the grip on my chin, he forces my head to turn sideways to claim my lips. I don’t have time to react as his mouth is hot and demanding against mine. I can taste myself on him with the hungry thrusts of his tongue, the sting of his teeth. He snags my lower lip between his teeth, drawing blood that he licks away. 

He releases me, leaving me out of breath and lightheaded. 

I can hear his own ragged breathing, along with the zipper of his jeans. Then his erection, long and hard, presses against my ass. The tip of his cock teases at my opening. 

His fingers skim along my sides until they tightly grip my hips and pull me flush against him. He slides into me in one firm possessive stroke. 

I scream out. 

His thick, swollen cock pulsates against my walls, as my pulse quickens in anticipation. But I don’t wait long. His thrusts are deep and long, entering me all the way to his base. His pace is aggressive and quick. I press my face into the bed, stifling my cries.

His arm wraps around my chest, lifting me up and pressing me back into him. His hips still against me, but I can feel the full length of his erection planted deep inside me. 

“I want to hear everything.”

His head dips to my shoulder where he bites and sucks hard enough to leave both an impression and a bruise. As he continues marking me, one hand slides up to grip my neck. His hand tightens around it and my head is forced back against his shoulder. He holds me in place as he puts pressure on my trachea, sensually choking me. 

I gasp in sweet agony.

His other hand cups one of my breasts, squeezing it, and then pinching my puckered nipple. He then repeatedly twists it between his fingers like a toy.

He doesn’t stop until he hears my sharp, choked cries penetrate the fours walls of the room.

“ _That’s my girl_ ,” he whispers against my ear. He nips at my earlobe, as I try to regain my breath that burns in my throat.

All of the stimulation makes my swollen clit throb. I reach down to rub myself, but he slaps my hand away and pushes me back onto all fours.

“You will scream my name when you come for me.”

He takes me again, impaling me over and over. My fingers go numb from my grip on the bed. My voice turns hoarse from the piercing screams. He reaches under me to rub my clit. This time, he attacks the right spot and the build up makes me feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff ready to freefall. 

“Oh, fuck! ETHAN!”

There’s an explosion and I feel like I’m weightless. I’m falling as every nerve fires, sending waves of pleasure to spasm throughout my body.

Ethan follows with a deep, thundering groan. 

My limbs give out. I collapse onto the bed, with him following on top of me. My heart is racing, my body numb but alive. His large body presses me into the bed, but I begin to relax under him, feeling his heart pound into my back and his jagged breath burn hot against my skin. 

He slides off me, and pulls me into the circle of his arms. I relax, sinking into his embrace. He begins to leave soothing, warm kisses along the curve of my neck, which lull me to sleep.

But then I hear it, so soft but fleeting.

“ _I love you.”_

I jolt awake. My entire body is covered in a hot sweat. I sit up and look around in a daze. My gaze drops to the empty side of the bed, and I realize I’m in my room. I distinctly remember the details of _his_ bedroom, not mine. 

I fall back against my bed and groan at the fact that it was only a dream.

But I’ve never had a sex dream like that about him, not even in the beginning when they were more common. In this one, he was domineering, controlling, and… rough. If I hadn’t woken up, he probably would have tied me to the bed and blindfolded me during round two, slapping me across my ass with his belt instead of his hands and gagging me with his tie. 

I’ve never even read or seen _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , but dammit, did I just have my very own _Fifty Shades of Ramsey_?

Is this a secret fantasy of mine, or is my mind trying to tell me something else, like I miss him? 

That’s too innocent an answer. And with how soaked my panties feel and with the way my clit throbs, ‘secret fantasy’ might be a more appropriate answer.

I decide I need a cold shower to cool off. 

I can’t stop thinking about last night. We spent a long time at the harbor just talking. I was finally able to open up to Ethan about my family situation. And it honestly felt like some of my stress was lifted. Sienna was right, I did need him after all. And I think he needed me, too.

_We needed each other._

Because it’s my day off, I have some errands to run. I call my brother to get an update on the family. I’m surprised to hear a lighter tone to his voice. Mama has been going to her support group and met a friend. From Elliot’s annoyed tone, it might be a male friend. Jacob joined the art club at school. Even though he barely says more than a handful of words in a day, he’s been able to express himself in his art. With his birthday coming up, we’ve decided to pitch in and get him a high-quality art kit. 

I’m on my way to the store when Kyra texts me. There’s a picture of her and Bryce with a tower made from empty Jello cups. 

**_KS: Too much?_ **

**_ZL: I’m coming over this afternoon. We’re gonna make an entire city!_ **

At the store, I fill my basket with five packs of Jello cups. I wander through the aisles and stop when I see the selection of pancake mixes.

I laugh as it makes me think of Ethan. 

Since last night, I’ve been met with nothing but positivity. Perhaps I can continue this trend. I grab a box labeled ‘Buttermilk Pancakes,’ toss it into my basket and go to grab toppings. 

I have a bag of groceries in one hand as my other presses the button on the call box outside of Ethan’s apartment. Suddenly, my happy anticipation has turned into an anxious one.

_Buzz_

“Hey, Ethan, it’s Zyra. Just wondering if you were home.”

I release the button and slap my forehead. I wait for a reply, but none comes.

_Buzz_

“Um, I was just also wondering if I could take you up on the offer to make you pancakes. Um, teach you how to make pancakes. Yeah, I mean, only if you’re free. But it’s the mix kind, even though you prefer from scratch, but it should be fine for the first try. But I don’t wanna bother you or anything like that. I’m sure you’re busy anyway. I mean you’re Dr. Ethan Ramsey, of course you’re busy even on your day off. Restlessness, right?” 

I give a humourless laugh. 

“Okay, um, I guess I’m just rambling here now, _like an idiot_. So, um, maybe you’re still sleeping… at 10 am… I mean I don’t blame you. It’s been a busy week. And we were out kinda late last night. Now that I think about it, I probably should have texted you. No, called you. _You hate texting_. And there’s no one around to open the door so I can sneak in, so maybe I’ll, uh, just go and—”

“ _I’d love some pancakes_.”

I hear his voice in a gruff whisper behind me. I drop my groceries and turn around, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. I fall back against the wall. My hand over my heart.

“Ethan! God, you scared me.” 

He’s in some activewear. A tight, form fitting, sleeveless shirt that does nothing but enhance the sculpture of his chest and rippled abs. Shorts that meet near the center of his thick, muscular thighs. His skin is glistening with sweat. His hair drips with it too, with some single strands stuck along his forehead in a sexy after workout kind of way. 

The very sight of him makes my desire pool between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together. Tight. What was I thinking coming here and seeing him after that wild sex dream? I should have given myself a buffer. 

_You are one horny idiot, Zyra._

My gaze drops to the ground and I can feel my face heat up. 

I see a peach has stopped at his foot. It must have rolled out from my bag. But before I make the effort to pick it up, Ethan bends down to grab it along with my bag. He then smiles wickedly at me. 

_Shit. He knows something’s up? He caught me gawking at him like a piece of meat._

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, trying to keep my voice and demeanor calm.

“Long enough. Your nervous ranting is adorable by the way.”

He rubs the peach against his shirt, takes a bite, and then tosses it to me. Never once has his smile dropped. He walks past me, carrying my grocery bag. 

_Oh god. It’s troublemaker_ _Ethan_. _Oh fuck! Was he the one in my dream?_

I stare down at the peach in my hands, admiring the bite he has left. I very well remember what his teeth had done to my _ass_ in my dream. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of any lingering, perverted thoughts. 

When I look up, he’s holding the door open. 

“Coming?”

_Oh god, yes._


	17. Ethan's Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships are not Ethan's forte, but he may realize that what he needs right now is a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes sexual content and a brief description of police brutality.

Friendships are fleeting and I don’t have any. 

That is a well-known fact to everyone who knows me. Some of my colleagues think it is a joke, and laugh it off. But the truth is that I’ve learned to have friends in moderation. And that means friendships are a rarity in my life. Some people thrive on such relationships, finding them to be an important aspect of their social networks. But I’ve found such relationships to be a painful realization of living through loss. 

They’ve been a part of my life that has caused me pain, and I’ve learned over time that such pain is best avoided. The loneliness involved is the better option over the anguish of losing someone. 

Perhaps it’s my cynicism that began after losing my best friend after med school. Perhaps it’s my cynicism that continued after losing the friendships during my residency due to their competitive natures. But most importantly, perhaps it’s my cynicism being further solidified due to losing Dolores. Once she died, I haven’t made any effort to make any friends. Thankfully, I have my job to keep me preoccupied. And I don’t need friends to do my job. I only need colleagues. 

The closest person who I may almost consider a friend is Reggie. I can go to Donahue’s, sit at the bar, and strike up a conversation with him every now and then. Sometimes I may even stay after closing, and he’d join me for a drink. Just the two of us. But I’ve refused to allow myself to do anything together outside of our nightly chats, and I keep the chats purely superficial. Even after knowing him for five-plus years, I don’t want to let him in. I don’t want us to get too close because I know what happens to those who do. 

I lose them all in the end. 

But now, as I look back at this one person who once held some importance in my life, I ask myself one question: _How did we get here?_

* * *

####  _CALL_

I nearly fall out of bed. But my hand braces against the floor, stopping my body from taking a severe tumble over the edge. Multiple muscles contract, pushing me back up onto my firm mattress, but my arm shakes under the weight of my body. I feel weaker than my usual self. All of that fitness training isn’t helping much right now. A groan rumbles deep in my throat as I drop my body back onto the bed. I let my arm hang over the edge, my knuckles skimming the cold, hardwood floor. The touch sends a cool current up my arm. It begins to soothe my overheated body, which trickles with drops of sweat.

My head hangs like dead weight, sinking into the bed. It feels as if something is pressing against it on both sides, increasing the pressure from within so that it will burst at any moment. It makes it a challenge to keep my eyes open. I alternate between keeping them shut and squinting. It becomes too much of a nuisance, so I give up, grab the pillow at my shoulder, and press my face into it. Problem solved. 

By the time I peek out from under the pillow, more of the sunlight has pierced through the window panes, attacking my pupils like sharp daggers. Why did I buy a condo with floor-to-ceiling windows in the damn bedroom? I’ll just add this to my list of unending failures. _Fuck this_. I pull the covers over my head.

I haven’t completely passed out. Even though I’ve blocked out the light, I haven’t been able to block out my never-ending, all-consuming thoughts about Zyra, the words she said, and her outright rejection. It is these thoughts that get me to sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I slump forward with my head falling into the palms of my hands. I’m dealing with the dual pain of my hangover and the loss of Zyra.

The last time I was in this position dealing with a massive hangover, she was here asking to let her take care of me. I initially resisted as my fiercely independent nature wasn’t used to being taken care of. But I eventually gave in because as physically, emotionally, and mentally despondent I had become, deep down hidden behind all of my rationality and rules was an irresistible need for her. 

Even now as I close my eyes, I can feel the memory of her hand tenderly raking through my hair. I lean my head against this memory, recalling the soft strokes of her fingers against my scalp. Just her touch alone was enough of a remedy. She made me feel renewed and replaced some of my usual cynicism with an unwavering sense of happiness. And the moment I felt her soothing touch, I realized then that I wouldn’t know what I would do without that caring and compassionate woman in my life. 

Unfortunately, now I do. And it was all my doing.

_The truth is you lost me a long time ago._

I slam my fist against my mattress, cursing under my breath. 

I had taken her for granted. I had taken _us_ for granted. And because of my fears and my ethical but misguided intentions to protect her career, I acted in ways that led to breaking her heart and losing her trust. I don’t even deserve her friendship. And that’s something—the guilt and regret—I’m going to have to live with for a long time. 

I begin to feel nauseous from these endless thoughts or from the build up of acid in my stomach. 

I shakily raise myself off the bed and stumble towards my bathroom, clinging to the walls for support. I collapse onto my knees and grip the toilet seat as I empty my stomach. _How much did I consume last night?_

After splashing cold water on my face, I can see the horror of a man looking back at me. It has been a while since I’ve been able to recognize him. The whites of his eyes are blood red framed within dark circles. His cheeks and nose are speckled with small red dots from broken capillaries—petechiae. It’s obviously from the strain of vomiting. He didn’t even bother to change out of his clothes from last night. Their wrinkles match the disordered pile of hair on top of his head and his five o’clock shadow. 

I ignore his appearance for now. I ignore the irredeemable monster in the mirror. But I can’t ignore the sickening feeling that has made my body as useful as my presence in Zyra’s life. I may have lost the chance to repair my relationship with her, but I can repair my body—at least temporarily. There is something that _will_ help with this damn hangover. 

I move down the hallway, dragging my feet across the floor. Entering the living room, I’m immediately blinded by that same sunlight again. I raise my hand to cover my eyes. Floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, too. _Imbecile._

As I turn to enter the kitchen, I curse loudly and fall against the wall. My instant instability causes my shoulder to slam against the wall. There is a dual, sharp pain that is piercing my shoulder and… I look down and notice that my foot has stepped into glass. There are pieces scattered across the floor. They’re laid out in some illogical sequence like an abstract artist trying to showcase their nonsensical interpretation of the reality of my pain. All it needed was a splash of my own blood. My stomach knots at such an irrational thought. _I’m slowly starting to lose the sight of who I am._

I limp to the kitchen, doing my best to avoid any of the visible glass. I pull open a drawer and take out a first-aid kit. I sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island and take some time tweezing out a couple of pieces of glass from the ball of my foot and cleaning up the pattern of blood streaking along the contours of my sole. I blink often, trying to adjust my eyesight to complete the task. My glasses are probably in the bedroom, so they’re too far away to even bother getting them. Thankfully, the wounds are only superficial.

As I continue patching up my foot, my mind recalls the hazy memory of throwing an empty bottle of scotch into the wall, like I was pitching for a strikeout. I had emptied the entire bottle last night. _That’s right._ When there was no more to pour, all of my anger and frustration flowed through me like a hot energy source readying to explode. It just so happened that I wielded it in the form of tossing the bottle across the kitchen, where it made impact on the far wall next to the living room. There’s about a one-inch long dent that has chipped away some of the paint. Now the sole of my right foot is paying for my drunken-induced rage of self-pity. 

When I finish, I let my head fall onto the island top. That took a lot out of me already. _What was I going to the kitchen for again?_ I raise my head as I remember. 

I slowly make my way through the kitchen collecting items. A bottle of lager. Cayenne pepper. I smile wistfully as I take my small potted cactus from the windowsill above the sink. One of the arms is still missing from last time. I take the ingredients and set them next to my blender. I pull out a knife and begin to question if I should trust myself with it right now. I don’t have a choice. I cut off the other arm of my cactus and as carefully as possible remove the cluster of spines. I pause and squeeze my eyes shut as my temples throb like a sudden pounding against a door. It _is_ my door.

It’s actually a simple knock, but for me it feels like a booming sound bouncing in all directions inside my head. 

Who could that be? Then a thought crosses my mind. What if it’s Zyra? What if she was released from the hospital and came to talk? I would give anything to see her again right now. 

The hope of her being the source of the noise gets me moving quicker than I have all morning or afternoon. I honestly don’t know what time it is. I stumble a bit as I rush towards the door, pushing through the bright light, the throbbing pain in my head and foot, and the weakness in my muscles. 

The knocking at the door continues. 

_Maybe it’s not too late to fix this._

I open the door readying to see the smile which can compete against the sun for its warmth. I’ll be honest. It wins against the sun every time. Every fucking time. 

But I’m not greeted by her warm glow of solace. What stands before me is actually more like the searing fires of the deepest pits of hell. 

How could I be so naive? My hand clenches the doorknob like a death grip and I scowl.

“Jesus, Ethan. Zyra wasn’t kidding.” Tobias scans my body up and down and looks behind me into my apartment.

My eyes narrow in an anger that is fused with a fierce protectiveness. A flicker of life awakens from the dark, cold pits of my eyes. “What about _Zyra_?” Her name nearly comes out as a hiss, giving this uninvited visitor an uninhibited warning.

“That you might need a friend. And by the looks of it—”

“We are _not_ friends.” 

He drops the small but judgmental smirk on his face. His shoulders stiffen. We glare at each other for a long moment. Then he holds up two coffees. “I brought a peace offering. And by the looks of it, you need it. Hung over much?” That same smirk resurfaces.

My anger towards him—and my disappointment—leaves me to respond in the most obvious way. I slam the door in his face. 

_What the hell does Zyra have to do with Tobias showing up here?_ I can’t bring myself to come up with a logical answer. I return to the kitchen and find my collected items still waiting for me on the counter next to the blender. Without much thought, I toss all of the ingredients into the blender and turn it on. The sharp whirlwind sound strikes against my head like a chainsaw. _Fuck!_ _I wasn’t thinking._ I quickly shut it off and drop my head to the counter to collect myself.

“Were you planning on getting yourself more drunk?” Tobias’s annoying voice snaps my head up. He’s standing next to me and holding the empty beer bottle. “A lager? What’s all this for?”

_Dr. Lewis’s Miracle Hangover Cure._ “What the hell are you doing in here?” I begrudgingly snatch the bottle from out of his hand. 

“You left the door unlocked.” He slides one of the coffees in my direction. 

My gaze flicks from it to him. “Get out.” I shove past him and grab a glass from my cabinet. When I turn around, this pestering intruder is holding the pitcher from the blender. His expression is scrunched up from sniffing the contents. 

“You’re not planning on drinking this, are you?”

If I had the energy, I would throw him out myself. I’m fighting all of these effects from drowning in an entire bottle of scotch in one night. I can throw him out after I drink my cure. 

“Give it to me,” I say, not hiding my annoyance. 

Instead of handing me the pitcher, he pours the mixture into my glass. When he’s finished filling my glass to the rim, he places the pitcher down and grabs his coffee cup. He takes a sip and surveys the open space of my condo.

“Nice place you got here.”

“Finding ways it’s not as good as yours?” I lean forward against the kitchen island and throw back the horrendously foul concoction. 

Tobias shakes his head with a low chuckle. “I do like the brick work on that wall with the electric fireplace. My fireplace is real though. Provides a more authentic atmosphere during the winter. And nice to cuddle up next to with a good woman.” 

I slam my now empty glass against the marble island top. With my symptoms having finally subsided, I can make good on my plan. “Get out, or I’ll throw you out myself!” 

“Calm down, Ethan.” He holds his hands up. “I’m actually here to help you.” 

“I don’t need yours or anybody’s help. This is your last warning, Tobias.” I can feel my rage boiling to the surface.

“Uh huh. Riiiight.” He points to my bandaged foot and then looks down at the mess of glass. “So about this? What were you up to last night?”

“Tobias, don’t.” He ignores me, walking behind me. “What are you doing?” I pointedly turn around and observe him. 

“If I remember,” he says, while bending down and opening a cabinet, “you always kept the dustpan under the sink.” He shuffles some items around. “Ah ha! Knew it. You’re quite predictable.” He finally stands, waving my dustpan at me.

“Just leave it. I’ll get to it later.” He continues to ignore me as he searches my kitchen for something. He finds it hidden between the wall and the refrigerator. It’s my broom. I grab the broom handle, but Tobias doesn’t let go. The tension between us is like a testosterone-fueled tug-o-war. “I said _don’t_.” 

His steady and heated glare burns against my own, and neither of us waver in the slightest. My other hand begins to ball into a fist. 

“What’re you gonna do? Punch me?” 

“Don’t act like you’re not giving me a reason not to.”

“Like I said.” He suddenly yanks on the broom, and I lose my grip on it. “You’re predictable.”

He begins sweeping up the glass. _How the hell did he get the upper hand in my residence?_ There are a thousand questions running through my mind, but the most pressing one is _What the hell is he doing?_

“Why are you really here?” If I can’t get him to leave, I’ll get answers from him instead.

He doesn’t make eye contact with me and continues sweeping.

“Was it because Zyra asked you to?”

He finally meets my gaze, but there’s a sadness to his frown.

“She might have suggested it, but I was worried before that.” He crosses to the other side of the living room, sweeping areas where there is no glass. “When I ran into you in the hallway, you had that same look on your face.”

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “What look?” 

“The one that screams fear and helplessness.” He turns his back to me, as he continues with slow strokes of the broom across the floor. “It was rare, but hard to forget. Like when your dad had his stroke and when I came home after the police roughed me up.”

Just the mention of those two incidences brings back mental images of my dad in the hospital and of Tobias entering our apartment with one hand holding onto his arm. 

Dad had a mild stroke during my third year of med school. I remember receiving the news and speeding all the way back home. I wouldn’t leave his bedside, and I missed a full week of classes. I would go up every other weekend to Providence for about two months straight. I did the same things I did after my mom left us, such as helping out with the cooking and looking after Dad. I also oversaw his diet to ensure he was eating better. And short walks in the neighborhood and bowling were something he took to for exercise once his physical strength returned. 

And Tobias. 

Tobias had been out late studying at the library. He wasn’t up to any antics that night. He was leaving the library when two armed campus police pushed him up against a wall and pinned his arm deep against his back. They didn’t tell him why they were holding him. He kept asking “What did I do?” But their response was always, “Stop resisting.” They roughly patted him down, pulled things out of his pockets, and dumped the contents of his backpack, breaking his laptop in the process. His shoulder was never the same after that night. 

I was ready to raise hell, to fight for him, to get him to file a complaint. But he was against it because he didn’t trust the school to do anything about the assault. I remember looking at him thinking that I could have lost my best friend that very night. And it must have been the same look I had when I learned about Dad’s stroke. Tobias was there when I received the call. If that is the look he remembers, then perhaps it’s the same look I have whenever I feel scared of losing someone close to me. 

But with Zyra, the difference is that I lost her. Even so, she’s still looking out for me. Regardless of her state, she always puts others before herself. She even sent my second-worst enemy to ensure I wouldn’t be alone because she knew how I’d react. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.

It’s starting to become clear that she probably knows me better than anyone else in my life. _I truly don’t deserve her or her kindness._

“Why would you care anyway?” I take the dustpan and kneel down next to the pile of glass. Tobias pauses and briefly catches my gaze with a look lacking any of his usual arrogance. Then he sweeps the glass into the pan. We don’t say a word to each other. He puts the broom away as I discard the shattered pieces into the trash can. 

“She’s going to be okay, by the way,” he finally says.

I don’t respond, but I watch how his eyes observe me, studying me as if I’m a patient he’s trying to read. He’s probably trying to find some answers about my and Zyra’s relationship. I won’t be giving him anything. But our interaction has become more about letting our comments and questions hang in the air between us from years of animosity and mistrust.

But as I look back at Tobias now, I wonder how we got here. 

Our competitiveness destroyed the kinship we formed, but he was the one friend I tried to fight for and reconcile with. He didn’t want any of it and I had no interest in making friends after our fallout. After having difficulty making friends due to fears of getting close to someone again, I met Dolores. I was hesitant at first, but we ended up having a decade-long friendship. Then I lost her almost two years ago, and that same urge to close myself off to friendships resurfaced more prominently. 

Perhaps Zyra was right all along. I’ve been suppressing my feelings towards my mom for over two decades. Louise leaving me has led me to fear being left by the very people I give a damn about. But I’ve always believed I have a right to that fear because the evidence supports it. 

Zyra once told me our friendship was inevitable. I only had the goal to mentor and train her. I had never planned for a friendship to blossom and for that friendship to grow into something more that I would later come to fear. I’ve never struggled with so much difficulty in resisting someone than I had with her. I couldn’t delay the inevitability of our friendship nor the romantic feelings we shared for each other. 

Even after everything I did to her, she never stopped trying to protect me, to help me, to support me, to trust me. But Zyra ended it for good last night. That is the true inevitability of our relationship and the true inevitability of all of my relationships. But I now wonder: Could I fight for her like I did for Tobias? If I did, would she reject me like he did?

Before my mind has a moment to try to rationalize the answers to those questions, Tobias’s phone pings. His eyes grow wide when he reads the message.

“I have an emergency back at the hospital.”

I nod and follow him to the door. “Thank you,” I finally say.

“Sure, but don’t expect it to become a habit for me.” I start to believe him, but then his serious lines curve into more relaxed ones. He gives me one final look over. “And whatever you drank, I don’t know whether to classify it as medicine or magic. I’ll ask you about it later.” He gives me an unusually cordial smirk and heads out. 

_Later?_

After the door closes behind him, I notice I’m once again all alone. I don’t know what this was today between Tobias and me, but it could have been a one-time act of kindness on his part. Is there a chance we can be friends again even though we are very different people now?

I then think of Harper and how I couldn’t force something that no longer existed between us. But is she someone along the lines of a friend now, or is she only my colleague?

I think of Naveen and how I haven’t yet forgiven myself for giving up on him. I also haven’t been able to speak to him about my fears of ruining his team. Will I ever overcome my fear of failing him? 

I think of Dad and how I know I’ve been hurting him by avoiding his calls. I don’t want to talk about Mom. But can I face him again?

And finally, there’s Zyra. Is she worth the risk? The risk of her training? The risk of her career? The risk of her reputation? The risk of losing her all over again? 

I used to believe the answer was clear, but I’m still left with my internal conflict. My rational side is competing against my irrational one. My rationality has always been undefeated, but when it comes to Zyra, there’s a chance for an upset.

* * *

Zyra’s been out for the entire week, but I’ve just received the following from her:

_Dear Dr. Ramsey,_

_I unfortunately need to take an additional week off. I apologize for the inconvenience it will have on you and the team. I will email you again next week to inform you on my official return date._

_Sincerely,_

_Zyra Lewis_

Her professionally worded email omits any details of her condition. _I’m her boss not her partner._ After rereading it at least a handful of times, I just now realize the firm grip on the pen in my hand. I slowly uncurl my trembling fingers. My eyes trace the impressions left on my skin. I then look at my phone sitting on my desk. I know I can’t call her, but I need to know how her recovery is going. She can take as much time as she needs to heal, but the anxiety of not knowing her condition has left me distracted all week. I’ve uncharacteristically taken breaks in the on-call room when even the little reminder of her is triggered. 

She wasn’t just my friend, she was someone who has made me question the very idea of love. When we laid in bed together with her brother sprawled out between us, my mind went somewhere it had never gone before. I pictured the exact situation, but instead of her brother, it was our own child. My mind imagining that future filled me with an overwhelming fear separate from my fear of losing her. I don’t know how one person could have such a hold over me and make me ponder ideas I would have never considered in the past. 

But I should have protected her. She should be in my arms right now. She should be confiding in me and taking my hand when she needs it. I should be cooking her dinners and holding her until she falls asleep. I should be trying to make her smile and laugh. I should be making her feel special and important every day. I should be staying up and texting her all night if that is something she needed. At the very least, I should have stayed at her side like she did for me during Naveen’s illness. 

I have been contemplating Zyra’s role in my life. I remember the meaning of her name, which her mother did not subtly bring up in conversation. Part of the meaning of her name means to bring change. Without Zyra, Naveen would have died. And without her, Tobias wouldn’t have appeared at my doorstep. But trying to find some meaning in coincidences is nothing more than punishing. Zyra came to Edenbrook because she applied and I placed her. Everything else that came after was based purely on our decisions, leading to only these obvious coincidences. She was not meant to come here as a measure of change in my life. There is no cosmic force wielding such a power, something people would equate to destiny. She made the decision to follow me into the construction zone to find Patient X. Because of that, she was able to have all the information she needed to diagnose Naveen and save his life. Harper told me Zyra went to a movie close to Mass Kenmore, where she ended up after her panic attack. And also because of that, she was able to interact with Tobias and somehow encourage him to see me. Her bringing these two men back into my life is the result of her fighter attitude and her compassion for others, and not because of the meaning of her name and the concept of fate. 

In the end, all we have left is the consequences of our choices. Now I have to choose what to do with these consequences. Can I work through my own fears and become a man who deserves her?

But I know where I need to start. 

It’s been years since I’ve left work before 7. I don’t make a stop at home. I just drive. This normally 50-minutes-to-an-hour drive takes almost an hour and a half. Because it’s Friday, travelers are leaving Boston for the weekend, and the highway has areas of congestion. 

When I arrive, my fear keeps me motionless in the car. My mind turns with thoughts of guilt and words I could try to say. All I know right now is that I need to try to be honest. If I want to keep the few important people in my life, I need to start with him. It’s time for me to stop running away.

_It’ll be okay. The first step is always the hardest. It’ll get easier after that._

My mental voice has become her warm and sensible one. Even in my own mind, she’s still trying to support me. 

I finally will myself to exit the car and stroll up the brick path leading to the front door. I glance at the large maple tree in the front yard. It provides a focal point among the clean landscape around the perimeters of the house. The leaves are returning and, in a month or so, the tree will be full and remarkable.

When I knock, I hear barking on the other side of the door. It grows louder as it comes towards me, stopping on the other side with the sniffing sound coming from under it. It’s soon followed by an impatient whimpering. The door opens and I’m met face-to-face with the one person I’ve been avoiding. 

“Hi, Dad.”

Before we can make any verbal exchange, Jenner jumps up on me, his front paws pounding against my chest. He balances on his hind legs as if trying to give me a hug. My chocolate Labrador releases a distinctive howl that I’ve come to know as his usual happy greeting. I rub his neck and head. I tilt my chin up, as he gives me wet kisses across my neck. 

“I’ve missed you too, boy.” _The one true friend I have._

He jumps back onto all fours, his tail wagging rapidly behind him as he paces circles around me, nuzzling against my legs and sniffing the paper bag in my hand. 

“He’s looking good.”

Dad smiles warmly. “Glad to hear. We go on lots of walks.” 

Jenner barks a few times and then runs out into the lawn. He’s so excited, he runs laps around the tree. 

“I was worried about you,” Dad says. 

“Dad, I…” I didn’t realize how emotional I would feel just by seeing him. I can already feel a pang in my chest. But Dad has always been kind, even now. “Can we talk?”

“I’d like that.” 

“Here. I brought you your favorite.” I hand him the bag. He peeks inside, his eyes lighting up. 

“House burger from my favorite place, Chomp? Everything on it?”

“Would I bring anything else?” I smile wide in earnest. 

I call out to Jenner, who is now rolling on his back in the grass. He charges ahead of me inside, and I follow behind along with Dad.

I don’t know how our conversation will turn out. I also don’t know how honest I can be, but I want to understand Dad better. I want us to understand each other better. And we need to talk about Mom. If I’m to move forward through this endless cycle of loss and gain the courage to fight for Zyra, I need to start with talking with Dad. 

And the first thing I need to do is apologize to him. 

* * *

####  _WITHHOLD_

This cold shower is not helping at all. My entire body feels like it has been set aflame. The water creates clouds of steam as it makes contact with my scorched skin. My usual Sunday morning run doesn’t overheat my body in the way Zyra’s hungry look did, stoking the growing fire. I admit that I took much pleasure in watching her expression turn almost animalistic. I was also proudly satisfied that I still have that effect on her. But now I’m paying for our unresolved sexual tension. 

I have an additional predicament. As I stand under the shower head, trying to not only cool off my body but also my thoughts, all of my blood flow has raced downward to give me one swollen, aching erection. I’m thankful that it didn’t decide to make an appearance in response to her eye-fucking my body. 

There is no way I can release myself right now with her in my kitchen making me pancakes. _Perhaps if she were here in the shower with me instead._ I imagine the gentle caress of the water cascading down my body as Zyra’s soft fingertips. They skim along the dips of my muscles, tracing a path that sets off the thunderstorm brewing in my chest. 

I hiss in pain and slam the underside of my fist against the white tiled wall. _Not helping._ I press my forearm against the cold tile and lean my forehead against it. But I keep my eyes closed to prevent myself from seeing the bane of my sexual frustration. 

I need a mental distraction. 

I begin to mentally list everything I need to complete by the end of the day tomorrow. Attend morning Board meeting. An unconscious groan vibrates in my throat at the thought. I don’t have to even continue with the list. That alone gives me the distraction I need.

After my shower, I throw on a simple black sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans. My hair is a bit damp with some of the longer strands in the front lingering against my forehead. I run my hand through my hair to tame them, but my usual rebel strand sweeps across my left side. 

When leaving my bedroom, I am met with the sweet aroma of pancakes. I see Zyra sitting at the kitchen island with her gaze resting on her phone. Her thumb swipes across the screen in a slow, steady motion, as if she’s tapping along to the beat of a song. There are two different stacks of pancakes set on top of the island top. I also see that she found my tub of butter. _She remembered._ I smile to myself at her thoughtfulness. 

“Sorry for keeping you waiting.” I slide into the stool beside her and turn in it to face her. 

She looks up from her phone. Her eyes grow large and begin a quick scan of my body. They pause at the top of my head. She then blinks a few times, adjusts her posture, and gently pulls at the collar of her shirt. 

“No. You’re…” She bites her lower lip. “… _fine_.” She averts her gaze back to her phone and suddenly changes the topic by asking, “Ethan, have you seen this?”

Zyra hands me her phone. On the screen are some Pictogram posts from Gwenyth Monroe, the social media influencer I diagnosed with a tapeworm. But instead of seeing her usual narcissism on display, I see posts about Edenbrook. There’s the donation video I helped those high school kids with for the Hope Springs Charity Foundation. Included with it is a brief description and a group of words that reads _#SaveEdenbrook_. I’ve seen this format before on Monroe’s other posts while I was trying to find evidence to diagnose her condition. I didn’t think much of it until this very moment.

“What does this mean?” I point to the odd display of words.

“It’s a hashtag.” 

“I know what a hashtag is, Zyra.”

She presses her lips together as her shoulders shudder in a stifled laughter. She gently slaps my knee, but her hand remains. I’m itching to hold it.

“In social media terms, a hashtag helps users find similar topics. So if you touch #SaveEdenbrook, you’ll see all posts related to it. See?” She does as she explains, and the content on the screen changes. “So Gwenyth reposted the donation video to reach her millions of followers. Your final words were inspiring though.” She squeezes my knee and then begins speaking in a mocked version of my voice. “ _It’s a beacon of kindness for the rest of the country_.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help but smirk at her continued cuteness. I scroll and see most of the posts are from Gwenyth. There are posts explaining the purpose and importance of Edenbrook in the community with an emphasis on the team. There are also videos of former patients speaking about their experiences with the team’s services. 

“How did she find them?”

“Ah. She made a post reaching out to others to share their stories like she did.”

Then one specific post catches my attention. 

**_Donate to #SaveEdenbrook! I will match every dollar!_ **

The amount is already at $200,000. It was posted three days ago. 

I hand her phone back. “I wonder if Naveen knows about this,” I say, while rubbing my chin. “But let me guess, you’ve already messaged her.”

Zyra gives me a confident smile. “Of course. Her activism may be just what we need to save Edenbrook.”

I sigh. “Zyra, you shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“Why not? It’s been the only solution proposed so far, and it’s coming from a former patient who’s using her platform to try to help us. Why are you against this?” 

“Zyra…”

“No, Ethan.” Her voice rises in a heated tone. “Gwenyth is doing exactly what you said in the video. _It only takes one person to create change_. Edenbrook does so much for low-income patients and other vulnerable populations, and it’s not just the Diagnostics team. Where will they go if we don’t join the fight? We have a chance. We need to take it.”

Zyra has been dealing with a lot on her plate. Her sporadic bursts of anger have become more frequent, and they’re not always due to combating my conflicting viewpoint. I’ve been trying to watch my behavior around her to not arouse her temper. I need to turn her attention away from this conversation to something more upbeat.

“How about we talk about this later?”

“You’re just trying to find an excuse to ignore this, aren’t you?” She slams her phone down on the island top and points her finger at me. “You don’t want to hear any of it.” 

I can’t stand it when someone points their finger at me in accusation. Zyra is no exception. It’s downright disrespectful and tactless. I fight the urge to grab her wrist and remove that accusatory digit from my personal space. But instead, I fold my arms across my chest and bite the inside of my lip to quell the rise of my own anger. I can’t let my own temper and impatience get the best of me right now. 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I reply calmly. “We’ll talk about this. I promise.” 

She continues giving me a cold, disapproving look. 

I take her hands in mine, lean forward, and stare straight into her eyes. “I promise.”

I hold her gaze, hoping that she believes me. She looks down for a moment, exhales sharply, and slips her hands from my grip. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Her angry gaze swings over me before turning away.

She pulls a plate of chocolate chip pancakes toward us and places a couple of them on the empty plate in front of me. She gets the tub of butter and a knife and sets them next to my plate. Zyra only places a single pancake on her plate, but it’s not chocolate chip.

There’s an uncomfortable silence hanging between us. I study her from the corner of my eye. Her posture is slouched. Her face is full of frown lines. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip. She’s serving up our breakfast as a distraction. What I’m reading from her is that she’s ashamed of her overreaction and doesn’t know what to say. 

As I spread a decent layer of butter over my stack, I observe her as she drowns her pancake with a downpour of syrup. 

“You think you have enough there?” I ask. 

In a flash, an amused expression quirks up the side of her mouth as she glances at me. “Says the man with enough butter to win the butter sculpting contest at the Iowa State Fair.” Zyra’s true smile stretches across her face and parts her lips. My chest warms at the sight. 

I crack a huge grin. I take a bite of the pancakes and lick away the lingering remnants of butter at the edge of my mouth. 

“Thank you for making these. These are definitely low on my list of most unlikable foods.”

She shakes her head at me. “You always know the right words to flatter me,” she says with a trace of laughter in her voice. _She’s returning._

Her tone is lighter. Her demeanor is more open. I sense that we can continue a more cordial conversation.

“How about some music?” I suggest.

“Sure.” She takes the first bite of her pancake. That’s a good sign.

“Any requests?”

“Well, I’ve been listening to this one opera song on repeat. I don’t know if you have it.” 

I know Zyra wasn’t into opera before I met her. So I’m blindsided by her choice. I was fully expecting some contemporary pop song from some contemporary pop singer I have no familiarity with. In all honesty, I have zero familiarity with contemporary popular music. 

She taps her plate with her fork, as she looks straight ahead in thought. “ _Der Hölle_ something.”

I cock an eyebrow in surprise. That aria is about vengeance and is full of… anger. A sudden rush of worry stabs me in the stomach. I stand up, head to the living room, and stop in front of my custom shelves for my vinyl collection. I know where the album is located, but I need a moment to compose myself. Her dramatic weight loss, her hair loss, and her increased bouts of anger and irritability are the major effects I’ve noticed. I know Zyra isn’t telling me everything she’s going through.

“Hey, did you find it?” She’s standing on one side of the shelf.

“Yes,” I say, pulling out the vinyl and showing it to her. “ _Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen_ from _Die Zauberflöte_. But perhaps we can listen from the beginning.”

“Yeah. That one.” Her voice sounds shocked. She tilts her head at me in wonderment. “And you say it beautifully by the way.”

“I am fluent in German.” I pull out the first vinyl from the three-record set and prepare the record player sitting on top of the shelf. 

“Wait. What?” She moves to stand beside me, watching my careful movements. “How did I not know this about you? Do you speak any other languages?”

“About a couple handful.” I shrug, while I set the record on the turntable.

“What? I plateaued at basic conversation in French in college. I don’t have a knack for languages. At. All.” I glance at her from the side and catch her still stunned face looking at me. “I probably shouldn’t be so surprised. You’re a genius after all. And here I thought you knew that Italian opera because you memorized it. You know, like how I can memorize a Shakira song but I can’t speak Spanish at all.”

I let out a hearty laugh. _Okay. I may know who Shakira is._ I position the tonearm and the overture begins to play. 

“Well, I’m fluent in Italian and Spanish, too.” I begin to head back to our breakfast. The music continues softly in the background from the living room. “And French.”

“Show off.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

“I can’t very well tell you all of my secrets. I need to leave some mystery between us.” I flash her a playful smile and sit back down. “But it’s important when conversing with my international colleagues and our patients from different communities. I also like to travel. Language follows rules. Once you learn one, you can figure out how it fits in different contexts.”

I continue consuming my pancakes, but Zyra hasn’t sitten back down. I look up. She’s leaning against the end of the island next to me. Her eyes are closed.

“Zyra?”

She slowly opens her eyes, which are bordered with tears. “I don’t know what they’re saying, but it’s beautiful. I never took the time to listen to the full album before. Just that one song, and I’m sure you can guess why. It’s my angry jam.” She lets out a humorless chuckle.

I reach for her hand, and gently guide her to me. I don’t feel any tension in her muscles to indicate hesitation. Her body is positioned between my legs, and we are nearly at eye level. “Are you alright?” 

“You always do this to me.” She’s looking down and playing with the material of my sweater with her free hand. She may not realize that I can feel the heat of her touch against my bare skin underneath.

“Do what?”

“Play these operas that get me all emotional.” She bites her lip, stifling the hint of a smile.

My thumb brushes across her knuckles. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who requested this.” My voice has turned low and husky. I’m beginning to regret bringing her this close to me. 

Her gaze lifts to meet mine, and I’m reunited with that animalist hunger in her eyes. She moves her hand from my shirt to rest on my thigh. My heart begins to hammer in my chest, and I can feel my face burn red. 

Without any warning, she crashes her lips against mine. She’s kissing me with a passion as if she’s trying to relive a memory of us. Her kiss steals the breath from my lungs. But my calm is shattered, and I respond by reaching for her tongue with mine. She tastes like maple syrup and a trace of peaches. _That’s what she had in her pancake._

“Zyra… I thought we’ve planned on a friendship,” I say breathlessly.

“Maybe we can add benefits to it.” 

This is what I wanted. And she wants it too. 

I crush her body to me and deepen our kiss with a savage intensity. Her body quivers in my hold. A heady whimper escapes her while my tongue explores the recesses of her mouth.

Her hand slides down my torso and stops on the front of my jeans. I hiss loudly as her hand skims my bulge, which is now growing to its fullness against her touch. I drop my head to her shoulder the moment she begins massaging this pulsating ache I’ve been trying to fight all morning. 

Set off by her touch, I push her back against the island and recapture her lips. A growl escapes me, and I shove aside plates and utensils without a care. I hoist her up onto the island without our lips ever parting. Her hands explore under my sweater. Her fingers dance over my torso and across my back, singeing my skin and making my entire body shiver. I selfishly want more. 

My lips sear a path down her neck, her collar bones, the slope of her breasts. Her nipples are already tight and puckering through the fabric of her shirt. I move between each breast, teasing her swelled buds with my teeth. She arches her back against me and gasps in delight. Her hands find my hair. She weaves her fingers within my locks and tugs on them. I groan at the pleasure of the pain.

I move downward and begin lifting her shirt. I kiss her along each inch of her skin as I slowly expose it. My lips caress along her stomach, reaching across the ridges of her ribs and… I then pause.

I blink away the passion-induced cloudiness that has set in my vision. Before me is the true vision of her gaunt figure. Feeling it was one thing. But to actually see the effect her loss has had on her, makes my stabbing worry twist deeper into my gut and turn into outright fear. I can count each of her ribs as they protrude from her thin layer of skin. I can even define the parts of the sternum between her breasts.

“ _Zyra_ …,” I remark in a sorrowful whisper.

Zyra pulls her shirt down and then she hops off the counter. 

“It’s okay. I’m still not used to seeing it myself sometimes.” She adjusts her clothes and hair, and then begins cleaning up the dishes, not making eye contact with me. 

“Zyra, stop.” I gently grab her arm and take the dishes from her hand, setting them back down on the island. 

“I’m sorry, Ethan. All of this is happening too fast. I think I got caught up in the moment. Everything seemed to be turning around since last night. But I acted prematurely. I—I’m not ready. For any of this.” I watch as her eyes begin to brim with tears again.

“I’m sorry, too.” I release her arm. “I could never do something like friends with benefits with you anyway. There’s no way I can set aside my feelings for you for something casual.”

“It’s not just about what happened. I shouldn’t have even come here and put us in a position like this.” She leans forward on her elbows against the island, her face resting in her hands. “How are we going to figure out how to find this balance between being friends and our feelings?”

“We’ll figure it out.” I run a hand up and down her back.  
  
As I look at her now, I think about how we got here. After running away from her repeatedly and telling her to stay away, I wouldn’t have believed she would even want to try to be friends. I had hurt her to an extent that even I’m having difficulty forgiving myself. But the difference between now and then is that I was the one who had made all of the decisions about us in the past. I had decided we couldn’t be together, or at the very least, explore our feelings for each other. My decision mostly stemmed from my fear of ruining her career before it actually started. But I also know there’s another reason, a deeper reason behind my fear of being with her. And that’s something I’m still trying to figure out.

But now I know my actions were reprehensible and almost equatable to my own mom. I think the realization of turning into my mom is what has given me this newfound perspective about Zyra and my relationship. I’m open to addressing it now and working on it more than ever. If it means being patient until both of us are ready to be together in some capacity romantically, then I will wait for her. She doesn’t know this, but she is the best thing that has ever happened to me. She considers me to be her best friend, and the feeling is mutual. 

She deserves to have a voice in the situation between us. And I was a selfish idiot for thinking I had all of the answers and that I knew what was best for her. I just want to focus on us being in a good place and rebuilding the trust we had developed last year. I truly believe that when we both agree to want more, we’ll find a way to make it work. And the true difference between now and then is that I want to make it work with her because I want her in my life and I want to be there for her. That means I want her to want to need me as much as I need her. 

Right now I feel helpless as I observe how she’s been slowly deteriorating physically. She’s at a scary, unhealthy weight. But I did notice that she eats when her mind is distracted away from her painful, darker thoughts. I can’t force her to eat, but I can try to set up an environment that elicits that subconscious need to eat. I have to at least try because I don’t know what I would do if I lost her again. 

I continue rubbing her back until she finally stands straight up. 

“I should probably get going. I told Kyra I’d visit her.” 

“I’m glad she’s recovering well.”

“Me too.” She smiles softly. “Let me help you clean up at least.”

“You cooked. I’ll take care of it. Your friend needs you right now.” I grab her grocery bag. “Don’t forget her Jello.”

“Thanks.” She gives me a hug before taking the bag from me. But she lingers, and I’m relieved to keep her close for just a little while longer. Without looking away, she finally backs out from our embrace. 

“Ethan, are we okay?”

“Yes,” I reply with a reassuring smile.

She grabs her coat and phone, and I walk her to the door.

“I’m proud of you, Zyra.”

“For what?”

“Eating half a pancake.”

She gives me a smug look. “What am I ever going to do with you, Ethan?”

“I ask myself that very same question about you.”

We both exchange warm smiles, and her hand brushes against mine for a split second. I open the door for her. As she heads out, she quickly turns around.

“Oh, don’t forget, we still need to talk about Gwenyth.”

I nod and watch her leave down the hallway. I wait until she enters the elevator before I head back inside. When I close the door behind me, I lean my forehead against it and let out a deep sigh. _That went both as expected and unexpectedly._

There is a pile of mail from the week on the table near the door. Perhaps going through it will calm my mind from what just happened. I go through each one, sorting through junk mail and bills. But there’s one from Dad. Last week, he had told me he was sending me something and insisted I’d read it. I open it up but inside is another envelope. It’s addressed from my mom. 

My jaw clenches when I read her name in her handwriting: _Louise Ramsey_. 

She doesn’t deserve that name. She decided not to be a Ramsey a long time ago. 

Reluctantly, I remove the paper form inside, unfold it, and see that it’s a letter from her. 

_My Ethan,_

_I’ve been trying to reach you. Your dad says you don’t want to talk to me. He says you don’t want to give me your contact information either. So I’m writing you this letter instead. I wish you would give me a chance. I really need to see you. My life hasn’t exactly been great. I’ve moved around a lot for many years. I’ve never been able to hold down a job. I’ve been arrested a few times for theft. But I only stole because I didn’t have money. I still don’t have much of anything. When I look back at my life, I know it’s because I didn’t have you. I wish I could take back what I did. I wish I could have been there for you like a mother should be for her child. But I felt you’d be better off without me because I didn’t believe I was fit to be a mother or a wife. I had you when I was young and I wanted to try to live the life I could have had without you and your dad. I do wonder what my life would have been if I had stayed. I know I’ll never know the answer. But I know I’d like to try with you. I’d like to be in your life if you’d let me. My address is on the envelope. My place isn’t much of anything, but I do hope you’d come to see me so we could at least talk. Or you can write me back. Please, my son. I love you and I’m so proud of you. You are doing so well in your life. I always knew you would amount to amazing things. I’ll be waiting to hear from you._

_Your mom_

The nerve of this woman. She tries to get me to feel pity for the consequences of her own decisions. She deserves her hard life for what she did to us. I have no use for her begging or for whatever she thinks she wants from me. She couldn’t even apologize. All I read was one excuse after another.

I’m so angry that my entire body trembles. I crumple the letter in my hand and toss it. I can’t deal with this right now. I grab my keys, wallet, and green leather jacket. I let the door slam behind me. 

I take my usual route on my motorcycle, the one that helps me calm my mind. The sky is clear today and there isn’t much traffic on the road. I decide to take a detour away from the waterfront because I know it will be crowded today. It’s a Sunday after all. I just need to go somewhere more scenic and less inhabited. I’ll ride out towards Naveen’s. There are some isolated trails I can go on. 

I approach an intersection towards my detour. The traffic light is green on my end, but as I approach, a car from the opposite direction does an illegal turn. I can already predict the outcome before it even happens. Everything moves in slow motion. The car turns right as I enter the intersection. The hood heads straight towards me, and I can already hear the screeching of tires and a horn honking. My reflexes react to try to dodge it. My body leans to the right, taking my bike with me. 

The research about dying is true. When you’re about to die, your brain does replay memories of your life. The important, most emotional ones. As my life flashes before me, I see the people who have been the most important to me throughout my 37 years of life. Dad. Mom. Tobias. Naveen. Dolores. Harper. Reggie. Zyra. 

_I did love you all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) This is how I picture Jenner, who is so happy to see his Ethan.  
> 
> 
> (2) The donation video comes from a diamond scene with Ethan in _With Every Heartbeat_ , another Choices book.  
>   
> 


	18. The Solution (CALL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra returns to work after her panic attack and is assigned to work on a major case with the diagnostics team. Solving this case may become the catalyst for the solution for saving Edenbrook and for repairing her personal relationship with Ethan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the R&B star Raleigh Carrera and the pop star MC (Cadence Dorian) from Platinum, another Choices book.

I pull out my white coat from my locker and hold it in my hands. My thumbs run across the collar. The gesture isn’t to smooth out the material, but more of reminiscing on the importance of wearing it. I didn’t realize how much I would have missed Edenbrook, my cohort and colleagues, my patients. My time away has made me think about family. My family back in Colorado and the family I’ve made here. Both places are full of the people I love. And losing Papa, Ethan, and Kyra in a short amount of time has shown me how easy it is to truly feel alone in the world. 

This year, I’ve been out from work for almost a month, including my time away in Colorado. The first week after my release from the hospital was the most difficult for me since the day of Papa’s funeral. The addition of Ethan’s loss hit me like a punch to the stomach that leaves you gasping for breath while lying flat on your back. I’ve had that happen to me in junior high school, and the right hook of my classmate left me incompacitated for a solid five minutes. Multiply that five minutes exponentially and that’s how I had been feeling. 

I went through a second wave of the grieving process and fell into a deep depression. They say you may not go through all the stages of the grieving process or even in the same order. This time, I’d immediately gone into the depression stage. I couldn’t get out of my bed for the first week. Aurora had to write an email to Ethan for me about my additional time off. I didn’t have the mental strength to do it myself. 

During that time, days had merged into nights and 7 AM became as irrelevant as 7 PM. I know my friends came to my room from time to time to check on me, but I was too much locked in the deep, dark recesses of my mind to even recognize their faces or their voices to at least acknowledge them. But it wasn’t until one specific day when Sienna drew open my curtains to flood my room with natural light. She hopped onto my bed next to me and opened up a tupperware. The sweet aroma of apple fully lifted my eyelids. My eyes tried to adjust from the bleak cave of my bedroom to the combined warmth of the daylight and my friend’s naturally bright presence. When my eyes focused in her direction, her entire face was beaming, from her brown eyes to her heartwarming smile. 

“I made apple turnovers. I left one for you,” she said, the kindness from her face and voice never faltering.

We hadn’t truly spoken since that night at Donahue’s when I regretfully directed my anger at her. We had been avoiding each other ever since. Even the day I came home from the hospital, I didn’t speak to her. I went straight to my room, discarded my shoes, and buried myself under my covers. I wasn’t trying to avoid her. I was trying to avoid everything and everyone. 

But seeing her sitting there with the light illuminating around her head like the halo of an angel made my tears pass the brimming stage and go completely to the ugly-crying-tears-staining-my-cheeks stage.

I grabbed her hand, gripping it as tightly as I could. “I’m so sorry, Sienna. I’m so sorry.”

She hugged me and we cried together, spilling tears all over each other. “I’m sorry too. I love you.”

Since that day, after we cried, made up, and shared an apple turnover, things began to turn around for me. It didn’t happen all at once like the flick of a lightswitch, but incrementally. I still struggled with getting out of bed, not crying all the time, letting light pour into my room, taking my anxiety medication, and trying to socialize. But Sienna was the one who helped me take those first steps back into reality, even though reality still hurt. 

It was my friends who helped me through my second week. Elijah would visit my room and we’d play a lot of UNO. Jackie would sometimes join us. My laughter returned during our game sessions and so did my joyful, competitive side when I slammed down a card and shouted “Uno!” Aurora would keep me company and study in my room until she finally got me out and into the living room. The feel of the couch was a nice change from the sunken dip I had left in my bed. Sometimes I would quietly zone out while watching Elijah and Rafael play a video game. I also hadn’t realized that Bryce visited after work every day, but being more lucid, I was more aware of how closely he stayed by my side. For one, I vaguely remember falling asleep on his shoulder on the couch.

I’m able to be here at work today because of them. And it’s because of them that I know that no matter what, I’m not alone. I’m not operating at 100%. The pain still lingers. But compared to two weeks ago, I believe that I can move forward. I truly believe that. And moving forward means facing my loss and trying my best to heal so that I can be there for my two families. Even though Ethan and I are finished personally, he was right about one thing: I can’t help others if I don’t take care of myself first. 

My fingers trace over the Edenbrook logo on my coat as if I’m stitching the letters on myself. My thoughts turn to the man I love but can never be with. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for him. He matched me to this hospital, and the wish of being mentored by my medical hero came true. But alongside that, I’d been opening my heart and falling in love with him. And I felt he was too. Now my love for Ethan has become both a gift and a curse. 

I bite on my lip at the thought of losing the possibility of an us. I truly began to believe that everything that happened between us in Colorado, at Papa’s funeral, was bringing us both towards the reality and the inevitability of finally embracing our feelings for each other. But not even such intimacy could make him stay or want to be with me. After he stayed away from me when Naveen was finally diagnosed and treated, I should have known there would never be anything more between us, no matter how hard I fought for him. His own cowardice won in the end. Or his true feelings for Dr. Emery. Whichever it may be, it’s something I am learning to accept—slowly. 

A pair of arms wrap around my shoulders from behind. A warm body presses against my back. But my body stiffens at the intimate touch. The scent is familiar, but not the one my heart responds to. 

“Welcome back.” Bryce speaks casually against my ear. 

I gently shrug my shoulders out of his hold, turn around to meet him, and begin to slip on my coat.

“Thanks. It feels good to be back.” I smile warmly, while smoothing out my coat. 

Bryce takes a seat on the bench across from my locker and stares at me with a contemplative look. His expression is serious and his fingers are drumming against his knees. I can almost see words forming above his head.

“I’m really glad you’re doing better. I was so worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you or anyone. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve been understandably going through hell lately, and I’m just thankful I was able to be here for you.”

“Thank you, Bryce. You don’t know how much your being there for me these past few weeks means to me. How much you mean to me.”

“You mean something to me too, Zyra.” His smile is soft and not representative of his flirtatious nature. “This may sound forward, but can I take you out? It might be a helpful distraction.”

I quickly turn around and begin to fumble with some things in my locker. “Like, um, a date?”

“Yeah.” I feel his hand on my shoulder. He gently turns my body around to face him. That same pensive expression has returned to his face but there’s now a hint of anxiety across it. “Zyra, I care about you. Being by your side these past few weeks has made it more clear.” 

_I care about you_. Sometimes we do get the things we want, but not in the way we may expect. I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted to hear those exact words for so long. But they are words spoken in a voice not equal to the one in my dreams. If I held similar feelings for Bryce, maybe I would have said yes and returned his affection. Maybe by trying to open myself up to another man, I would be on the path to move on from the man who isn’t as brave as the one standing before me right now. Rationally, Bryce is someone I deserve, but emotionally, my heart doesn’t beat for him. It beats for another. I need time to let my heart heal before I can open myself up to someone new. Whether it be Bryce somewhere in the future or some stranger I’ve yet to meet, I just need time.

“Bryce, I—” His hands immediately drop from my shoulders. “With everything going on, I just don’t feel I can take on anything new right now.”

“Like dating?”

“Yeah. I need to focus on myself first and foremost. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I get it.” He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. “But I’ll be here if you ever change your mind,” he says with his usual flirtatious wink. 

“Well, don’t let me stop you if the future Mrs. Lahela shows up,” I say, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

“Ha! If there is to be a future Mrs. Lahela, she’ll have a lot to live up to.” He gives me a wistful glance and then grabs his coat from his locker.

“Hey, Bryce?”

“Yeah?” He closes his locker door.

“How’s Kyra?”

He slowly shakes his head and leaves.

* * *

I kiss Kyra’s forehead. “I’ll come back after my shift, okay?” I watch her chest move up and down, as the ventilator helps her breathe. I study the readings on her monitor, memorizing the values for her heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, respiration, and temperature. All steady. 

Dr. Fitzgerald walks in. He pauses at the doorway before he fully enters. He gives me a side-eyed glance. 

“I was just leaving,” I say as I make my way out. 

As usual, he doesn’t respond. 

The eerie silence in the room, which is only interrupted by the sound of Kyra’s mechanical breathing, keeps me from leaving. I turn back around and notice the surgeon marking something in Kyra’s chart. The last time we interacted, I lost my power to defend myself against his accusations related to Mrs. Martinez’s death. But at this very moment, I feel strong enough to say something—to tell him how I truly feel. I’m not leaving until I set the record straight between us.

“Dr. Fitzgerald, I know you don’t agree with the Board’s decision about my being here, but I’ve done nothing but put my patients first. And that included Mrs. Martinez. You may not agree with the choices I’ve made, but my entire purpose as a doctor is to do everything I can for them and to help as many people as I can. If that’s reason enough for you and other doctors to hate me, then that’s the consequence I’m willing to take.”

He takes his time writing as if my words had not bothered to interrupt and deter him from his task. He clicks his pen, carefully places it in his breast pocket, and closes the chart in his hand. He takes off a sophisticated pair of rectangular, silver eyeglasses, revealing his steel grey eyes. The temperature in the room has immediately dropped by 10 degrees. 

Surgeons are stereotyped as having a cold heart. He may very well have been the one this stereotype is based on. If he had been the first attending I’d have met on my very first day as an intern, I would have to say that his intimidation factor would rival Ethan’s, but the surgeon would probably win. I would take Ethan’s more emotionally charged temper over this Ice King. 

Even his appearance is marked by a bitter coldness. He’s covered from head to toe in black, as if he’s marked by a cold, dark shadow that draws in and devours all of the warmth and emotion in the room. His black slacks and grey button-up shirt with a matching basic black tie contrast with his white lab coat. His straight black hair is expertly cut short with a side part and graying at the temples. He has very few frown lines for a 40-year-old man, which is probably evidence of how often he expresses emotion. He has a clean shaven jawline that exposes a deep dimple shading the center of his round chin. He’s built on the average side, but his appearance makes him imposing.

“I can’t speak for others, but I have no reason to hate you or anyone. I just don’t respect you.” Even his voice is like a cold frost freezing everything in its path. “Respect is the most important quality in a colleague, Dr. Lewis. Regardless of how you may feel about someone, if you lose their respect, how can you trust the work they do? How can you trust sharing all of your hard work, your very career, with that type of a colleague?”

“I take it you don’t trust me enough to work with me?”

“No. I also don’t trust your methods. But if this hospital doesn’t shutter and you stay on as an attending, I’m certain we will have to work together at some point.” He places a hand in his pocket and holds my gaze. His eyes are like a dark void. Not even a flicker of emotion escapes. “If you are true to what you say, then you should focus more on your patients than on my feelings in regard to you. This isn’t a high school.” He then looks over his shoulder at Kyra.

He has a point. With the fear of being alone due to the losses in my life, I also fear how others perceive me. That perception also goes hand-in-hand with my fear of being alone in the end because I can cause rifts in my relationships, like how I almost did with Sienna and Aurora, my two closest friends. I shouldn’t try to prove favor to my colleagues. The proof should come from the work I do by focusing on what is most important—our patients. I then recall something Ethan once told me:

_The lesson there is that if you put your patients first, you’ll always be vindicated in the end._

Not everyone I work with is going to like me or agree with what I do, including the Ice King. Even if I feel angry at his words and feel the urge to retort and defend myself, in the end I know I did what was right for Mrs. Martinez. Trying to make others understand is fruitless when they’ve already made up their minds about me. All I can do is continue learning and become better at my craft without fearing how I might be perceived. It’s time that I learn a new lesson.

“Well, I respect your honesty, Dr. Fitzgerald, even if it’s hard to hear,” I say in earnest. “I also know that respect can be re-earned if given the chance.”

He turns back to me, his icy gaze evaluating me. “I have a surgical team I need to oversee.” He puts on his eyeglasses and begins to head out.

“Dr. Fitzgerald?” He stops and looks at the time on his phone. “Thank you for taking care of my friend.”

“I wish there was more that I could do for her,” he says gravely, which is the closest hint of emotion he has expressed since knowing him. 

“You’re the Chief of Surgery. I know performing surgeries isn’t part of your administrative functions, but surely someone else could be checking on Kyra regularly. Why do you do it?”

“That’s an answer reserved for my closest friends. And we are not friends, Dr. Lewis,” he says. 

I could easily be offended by his response, but there’s truth to it. And considering our relationship, I shouldn’t be prying. I nod in understanding.

“For what it’s worth, thank you.”

* * *

I take a moment in an on-call room to let myself succumb to the outpouring of my emotions. I wipe away my tears, straighten my clothes, and prepare for my first day back. I make my way to the diagnostics office. There’s a flutter in my chest at the anticipation of seeing Ethan again. But he’s not there when I walk in. I can’t but help but feel a combination of relief and disappointment. 

June and Baz immediately stand up from the conference table.

“It’s like _déjà vu_ ,” June says. 

_Thanks, June._ I fight the urge to roll my eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Baz asks.

“I’m feeling ready to get back to work.”

“Good. Because Ethan wants us to meet him at Mass Kenmore,” June says.

“Mass Kenmore?”

“Go get things settled with Zaid and meet us at Baz’s car in ten minutes,” June orders. 

I check in with Zaid and get my cases handed over to another resident. I also check in with Esme before I take the ride to the other side of the city. Both Baz and June are clueless as to why we are going to Mass Kenmore. All they heard from Ethan was that we are working on a confidential case with Tobias’s team. I wonder how that union came about, considering their long-term rivalry. Did Tobias actually go to see Ethan after all? 

Ethan is waiting for us at the atrium of the hospital when we arrive. After we check in with security and receive our visitor badges, we join him. His arms are folded and his expression is impassive. But when he sees me, his eyes soften slightly. The flutter from earlier has returned unannounced.

“Welcome back, Lewis,” he says and then turns to the entire team. “Tobias has requested our services on a specific case. I’ve been here since yesterday. We’ll explain everything in more detail. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Baz asks.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose as we wait for the elevator. “Their VIP wing.”

One unethical thing in patient care is prioritizing patients based on status. This can be related to fame and wealth. Mass Kenmore’s VIP wing exemplifies this very issue, creating more of an inequity in how patients are cared for. That’s why we have the diagnostics team and charity foundations like Hope Springs to assist those who do not have the fame, wealth, or even health insurance to get the treatment they need.

I currently share Ethan’s frustration, but what’s most important right now is helping this patient. Though, I am curious about who has been admitted into the VIP wing. A politician? An actor? A pop star? An influencer? A tech CEO? America’s Dad and National Treasure, Tom Hanks? _Oh god, I hope not._

The elevator door finally opens and we all file inside. Ethan and I are at the back. When I turn to face forward, my hand brushes against his for a split second, igniting a spark of electricity against my skin. It’s an overwhelming sensation that sends a charge straight to my heart, like a jumper cable trying to restart a car battery. But my heart doesn’t need to be restarted. It needs to be surgically replaced because sometimes it feels like it’s too corroded to repair in order to use again. _Sometimes_. And that sometimes is right now while standing beside one of the major causes of the damage. 

I’m not an idiot. I knew it would be difficult seeing him. But this time it’s more difficult than after returning from Colorado. During that time, our relationship was uncertain. Even though I held more doubt than hope, at least I still felt a sliver of that hope. But now, that hope has been completely eradicated. We are over. Actually, we never even had a chance. The truth is that Ethan’s behavior has been damaging for my health, and as I told Bryce earlier, I need to focus on myself. 

I clasp my hands in front of me and try not to take even one glance up at him. If we were alone, I’m sure some words would have been exchanged. It makes me wonder how he has been doing since our last interaction. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when he’s in Dr. Ramsey mode. But there’s a looming sadness that hovers over me, as I think about how I miss when there were hints of _my_ Ethan. 

I allow myself to breathe once we exit the elevator. We follow Ethan toward a set of double-doors guarded by a man in a blue blazer and sunglasses. We flash him our badges and he lets us through. We enter an empty corridor until we reach a room. Through the large windows, I can see inside. There are white boards covered in notes that wrap around two of the walls. The other two walls are filled with multiple screens that show scans and patient information. In the center is a round table with laptops, charts, and paperwork. This is the most hi-tech conference room I’ve ever seen in a hospital. 

Tobias and Aurora, along with some other doctors, are gathered around one of the screens. Tobias is speaking and pointing at some features in a scan. 

“Ethan, your team is late,” Tobias says as we walk inside.

“Remind you, you asked for our services. We can easily recuse ourselves from this case,” Ethan replies.

“Knowing you, it’s too mysterious of a case for you to pass up.” Tobias gives Ethan a smug smirk.

“Even when you ask for help, you still make it a competition.” Ethan’s tone turns from irritated to heated. 

I step between them, placing a hand on Ethan’s arm. “Enough! You two are still acting like children. What happened to putting the patient first?”

The room falls silent. Ethan and Tobias are glaring at each other, while their audience waits for an outcome, like from a tense wrestling match. Hopefully, a chair to the head or a finishing move won’t be involved. 

“Your resident’s right. Let’s get started.” I almost hear everyone sigh in unison. Tobias returns to his team with Baz and June following. 

“Z—Lewis, I apologize,” Ethan steps forward and whispers. “You shouldn’t have had to be a referee on your first day back.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Just do your job,” I say with a hint of anger.

Their little spat reminds me of one of the reasons why I’m thankful I chose to cut personal ties with him. He can act like a child, and I always have to become some voice of reason for him. It’s draining, especially when I’m wasting my energy on a man who doesn’t even want me the way I want him. But right now, my energy needs to be used on the patient. 

Ethan and I join the newly formed team. He and Tobias begin to update us all on the case.

“You may have heard the news about Raleigh Carrera suffering an incident at his concert here in Boston two weeks ago,” Tobias says.

Ethan continues, “His admission to Mass Kenmore has been confidential. Not even the media knows he’s here, and we want to keep it that way.”

My eyes grow wide. “ _The_ Raleigh Carrera?”

“You obviously know of him,” Tobias says.

“Of course. He’s one of the most popular R&B stars in the country. Who wouldn’t know?”

Almost everyone turns to Ethan. 

“Don’t bring me into this.” His face flushes red. “Can we focus on the matter at hand?”

As the discussion returns to the case, I turn to Aurora and whisper, “ _So this was what you’ve been researching late into the night._ ” 

She nods. “ _Sorry. I couldn’t tell you._ ” 

After we’re updated on the case, Tobias leads the diagnostics team to Mr. Carrera’s private room. I’m mentally organizing and filing away all of the information my colleagues have already learned about the patient. 

_He had body aches a month before his tour began. Everyday, the aches were in different places of his body, but the pain mostly occurred on his joints. He had taken ibuprofen for the pain as he prepared for this tour. A week before his tour began, he had flu-like symptoms, but he never saw a doctor. Boston was the third stop on the tour. During this concert, he suffered from difficulty breathing and was rushed to Mass Kenmore. He’s been lethargic, has had migraines, and hasn’t had much of an appetite. Tests have shown he is anemic, has hypertension, a low count of platelets, and a slightly elevated BUN value—which shows a present of kidney disease. But the curveballs that have made his diagnosis challenging is his double vision and some gastrointestinal bleeding, which are unrelated to symptoms of kidney disease. He’s currently on Lasix for the fluid retention and swelling from the kidney disease._

When we approach the room, I can see why they call this the VIP wing. The room is set up like a five-star hotel room. Plush, silk-looking curtains adorn the window, looking out towards the city skyline. There’s a small dining area in the far corner with a sink, a round glass table with two chairs, a mini fridge and a few appliances, such as a coffee maker and a microwave. There’s a long, brown leather couch under the window and opposite a queen-sized bed that belongs in a bedroom, not a hospital room. And the artwork on the walls look like something from a modern art gallery rather than IKEA. Next to the bed is a stylish light blue armchair. The color matches the curtains and the comforter on the bed. The only outliers are the IV stand and heart monitor beside the bed. 

With Mr. Carrera is Cadence Dorian, another famous pop star and his girlfriend. The sight of these two celebrities makes my inner stan roar like crazy. But it immediately takes a backseat when I see the R&B star to be unrecognizable. His warmer complexion has turned as white as fresh fallen snow. Even the colors of his arm tattoos look faded. His muscle definition is also nearly gone. Ms. Dorian is sitting in the armchair holding his hand. She looks up at us through the glass window. I can see the dark circles and the redness in her eyes. There’s a tiredness when she smiles. 

“Looks like you brought me some more eye candy, doc,” Mr. Carrera says weakly to Tobias as we enter. When he chuckles, he begins having a coughing fit. Ms. Dorian rubs his arm throughout it. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He reaches for her hand and looks back at us. “So, how much longer do I got to live?”

“ _Don’t you dare say such a thing_ ,” Ms. Dorian scolds. 

“I’ve brought you some of the best doctors in this country to assist with the case,” Tobias reassures and introduces us one-by-one.

“We would like to ask you a few additional questions, if that’s all right?” June asks.

“Sure. Do I get a prize if I answer all the questions correctly?” Mr. Carrera teases. 

“There’s no correct answer, Mr. Carrera. Just answer as truthfully as you can,” Ethan says.

Suddenly, Mr. Carrera’s lips begin to perk followed by rhythmic jerks of his arms and legs and his eyes rolling back into his head. 

“Raleigh!” Ms. Dorian screams.

Tobias and Ethan are the first to rush to our patient and immediately turn him onto his side, waiting for the seizure to subside. When it does, we wait for him to awaken. He blinks slowly, looking as if trying to focus his sight. He blindly reaches out for something—Ms. Dorian’s hand. His grip is weak, and she clasps his hand between both of hers. 

The scene before me sparks a similar memory of my own. Instead of a twitch, my right hand flares up with a delicate warmth, and I slip it into my coat pocket.

A couple of nurses enter. As they check him, we speak directly with Ms. Dorian.

“This has never happened before,” she says, looking back at her love with a haunted look settling deep in her eyes.

“He doesn’t have a history of seizures?” Baz asks.

The pop star solemnly shakes her head.

“We’ll let him get some rest.” Tobias comfortingly places his hand on her shoulder. “And we’ll have a nurse watching him at all times.”

We head back to the conference room, but my mind is already filtering through the mental case file, trying to find a connection with the new seizure symptom. I make a note to review his medical history.

“Wait, guys,” Aurora says, stalling us in the hallway outside the room. “Mr. Carrera has kidney and gastrointestinal damage. With the seizure, it appears he’s—”

“Showing signs of neurological damage as well,” June finishes her sentence. Aurora nods. 

“We should monitor for any additional neurological symptoms that could arise,” Baz says.

“He may be on the cusp of suffering from multiple organ damage,” Ethan adds.

“And his organs may be beginning to fail,” I say. 

Tobias and Ethan exchange a look. “Let’s take this information back to the rest of my team. We’ll need to order a number of tests.”

I follow behind, but I feel a gentle hand on my elbow, stopping me. I turn around and meet Ethan.

“I want to check in with you. How are you doing?” he asks. Ethan’s face gives away no emotion, but I can see a glint of concern lurking in his eyes.

“Are you asking me this as Ethan or as Dr. Ramsey?”

His brow furrows at my question. “I’m aware of the situation between us, Lewis. I am asking as your _boss_. This is a complicated case. It’s not certain how long we will be here. I want to ensure that you are mentally prepared to take it on.”

We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. I feel my breath catch in my chest. I finally release it with a response. “I am.”

His gaze drops down to my right hand. “And your tremor?”

“Haven’t had one in more than a week,” I say calmly.

He slowly searches my face, appearing as if he wants to say something else. Instead, he nods and then walks away without a word.

* * *

I’ve been on this case with the team for a week. So far we’ve found small blood clots in the blood vessels of his kidneys, he’s had two more seizures, we’ve found fluid and bleeding in his lungs, and his kidneys are beginning to fail. We still have been unable to find a diagnosis. 

I’ve stayed late into the night and arrived an hour before my shift begins. Today is no different. I stop by Derry Roasters before I make my way to Mass Kenmore. I haven’t been back to Edenbrook since I started working on this case. 

When I get there, only Ethan and Tobias are here, busy working in the conference room. I linger at the door, when I hear the words “budget cuts.”

“The cuts are happening here, too. But even that may not be enough to save either of our hospitals,” Tobias says. 

Ethan rubs his chin. His gaze appears to move beyond Tobias. 

Tobias continues. “They’re looking into a merger, but nothing is set in stone. Even though both hospitals are in discussions, they’re still researching the criteria on how to proceed with one.”

Ethan opens his mouth to say something, but his gaze flashes in my direction and settles on me. “Dr. Lewis.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say.

“Is that for me?” Tobias asks while pointing to the coffee cup in my hand.

“Ms. Dorian,” I reply. “I’m going to go check on them.” I catch Ethan’s gaze, and a soothing warmth pools in my stomach. I feel myself smiling on my way to our patient’s room. 

“Good morning,” I say to the pop star, who remains in the chair at Mr. Carrera’s bedside. He’s asleep. She’s wrapped in a blanket with her legs tucked under her. She lifts her head when I enter. I hand her the coffee, and she takes it without a word like routine. “How’s he been since last night?”

“The nurse just left a few minutes ago. No change, thank god.” She looks down at the coffee in her hands, but doesn’t bring it to her mouth. Her eyes appear hollow and weary. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” I ask.

She gives a weak shrug of her shoulders. When she speaks, she doesn’t take her gaze off of her boyfriend. “I got an hour last night. I’m just afraid that if I fall asleep, something might happen to him.” She shuts her eyes tightly and swallows hard. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him. If I lost him.” Her voice cracks, as she clasps her hand over her mouth, stifling her quiet sobs. 

I place a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now.”

She wipes her face with her forearm, regains her composure, and takes Mr. Carrera’s hand. “Have you ever been in love, Dr. Lewis?”

 _Yes, but I wish I hadn’t._ “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll know when you do. It’s the most wonderful and scary feeling you’ll ever experience. I don’t want to sound corny, but it’s not like they fill an empty space in your heart or anything. It’s like your hearts become one, and each unified beat keeps each other alive.” A tender smile slowly spreads across her face. 

The love in her words is so palpable it nearly makes me breathless. 

“You know, relationships can be hard, especially when both of you have very demanding careers.” She quietly chuckles. “But it’s worth it. Raleigh and I are constantly on the road these days, promoting our separate albums. That’s why we don’t take our time together for granted. We make the most of it.” She caresses the back at his hand, still keeping her focus on him as she talks. “I swear when he had the flu, I was selfishly thankful.”

“Why?” I ask, my eyes wide and curious.

“Because it gave me time with him.” She finally looks at me. “Things like illness, hardships, tragedies can make or break a relationship. But when it’s right, it can bring two people closer together.”

I nearly gasp at her insightfulness. Tragedy is what brought Ethan and I close last year. Dolores. Naveen. Mrs. Martinez and my hearing. And then he traveled all the way to Colorado to be with me during my own family tragedy. He also tried to be with me in the hospital after my panic attack. If I hadn’t pushed him away and given us a chance to talk, would we be in the position we are now? Was Ethan trying to make amends before I cut him out of my personal life? Would Ethan had stayed at my bedside like Ms. Dorian has for Mr. Carrera? One thing I do know, is that I didn’t want him to leave. Perhaps we’re both cowards because we don’t give each other a chance to have a real discussion about whatever is going on between us. 

I close my eyes and let out a quiet, disheartening sigh. When I open them, Ms. Dorian has returned her loving gaze on the man still sleeping.

“And now?” I finally speak.

She grows silent for so long, it feels as if the entire morning has already passed. “I wish that he’d gone to the doctor when he got sick again.”

“Again?”

“He got the flu in December, but then it seemed like he got it again last month.”

“Do you know which strain of the flu he had in December?”

She purses her lips, while thinking. “Seasonal flu, right? I don’t remember, but I got his visit summary in my email.” She pulls out her phone and scrolls and taps for a while. “H1N1,” she reads. 

I furrow my brow. “And the second time?”

“I honestly don’t know. But it wasn’t as bad as before. Maybe it wasn’t the flu, but we’ll never know.”

“The time with the flu-like symptoms was right before his tour, correct?”

“Yeah. I told him to go to the doctor, but he wouldn’t listen.” She shakes her head. “I swear his stubbornness is part of his DNA.”

 _DNA?_ I tap a finger against my chin, my brain rapidly turning. _H1N1._ Then my tapping stills.

Ms. Dorian’s eyes turn round, and she sits straight up in her seat. “What is it, Dr. Lewis?”

“Oh my god. Stay here. I’ll be right back!” 

I rush out the room, my feet picking up pace as I jolt down the hallway and burst into the conference room. Aurora, Baz, June, and one of Tobias’s team members are inside, hovering over the table. Ethan and Tobias are scrolling through new scans on one of the monitors. 

“Ethan!” His entire body spins around towards my voice. “I know what’s wrong.” I meet everyone at the conference table. “Something Ms. Dorian said made something click.” I turn my attention to Ethan. “I remember reading an article in one of the journals you leant me. It was on Atypical Hemolytic Uremic Syndrome.”

“That’s an extremely rare disease. That’s usually diagnosed in pregnant women who have a genetic predisposition for it,” Baz says.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean men aren’t genetically predisposed. Ms. Dorian said he had H1N1 in December, which is one of the triggers for it. Then add the symptoms that came after. The flu-like symptoms, the anemia, thrombocytopenia, hypertension, uremia,” I explain.

“The blood clots are causing the organ failure throughout his body,” Ethan says.

“Exactly. Those with aHUS have a malfunctioning CFH gene and their bodies produce autoantibodies that are destroying his red blood cells,” I continue. 

“Which explains the blood clots in the vessels surrounding his kidneys,” Aurora says. “That should have been the clue.”

“With his other symptoms, it was difficult to determine,” Baz adds.

“That means he could have more blood clots in other small blood vessels in his body,” June says.

“That explains the gastrointestinal bleeding and neurological damage that is creating his seizures,” Ethan says.

“Damn. How did we not see this?” Tobias says, running a hand across his face. 

“I think our biases did. Like you said, we assumed this disease was mostly in pregnant women. We didn’t even consider it because he’s a man,” I say with regret laced in my tone.

“We don’t have time for self-pity right now. We need to order a DNA test and body scans for blood clots,” Ethan says. “If he does indeed have aHUS, we have to act fast or his survival rate decreases.”

Tobias and Ethan give out orders to their respective teams. I go with Ethan and Tobias to get permission for the DNA test from Mr. Carrera, who has finally awoken. Once the test results come in, my theory is correct. He also had some clots in the small vessels of his lungs and heart. We explain that he will need to have the blood clots surgically removed because of the extent of them. We also explain how there’s only one drug that is FDA approved for aHUS, but it’s expensive. Mr. Carrera waves the expense off, which isn’t too surprising because he can afford it. But we also explain that even if he received the surgery and the treatment, it could still return and his recovery will be long. We also advise to keep an eye on his kidneys, in case it comes to the point that he may need a kidney transplant somewhere down the road. Thankfully, the damage to his kidneys hasn’t reached such a critical phase.

After they take in the information, Ms. Dorian wraps me in a big hug. Even Mr. Carrera pulls me into a weak hug, feigning jealousy. 

Back in the conference room, we discuss surgical consults. Many of these clots are small, which will take very skilled hands. We run through a list of potential doctors from Mass Kenmore, but then I recall Dr. Fitzgerald. After some convincing, Dr. Fitzgerald arrives with Dr. Emery and his top gastrointestinal surgeon. Tobias brings in one of the top surgeons at Mass Kenmore.

“Thank you for coming, Dr. Fitzgerald,” I say warmly and shake his hand. I reflexively feel the need to retract my hand from the ice-like coldness of his. 

“You made a very convincing case,” he replies.

“All I ask is for you to trust us.”

“You mean trust _you._ ” His eyes crinkle slightly at the edges.

* * *

It’s been a month since working on Mr. Carrera’s unique case. He is finally being released from the hospital, and the rest of his tour has been cancelled. But all of the surgeries were successful, and the treatment has been showing steady signs of improvement. He will be staying in a rented condo in Boston until he is well enough to travel back home. We aren’t able to see him fully off because he has to be secretly escorted out through the back.

Before Ms. Dorian enters the elevator with Hank, the bodyguard and the nurse pushing Mr. Carrera in a wheelchair, she turns to me and takes my hands in hers. 

“Thank you for everything and giving me more time with the man I love. Without what you did, I don’t think he’d be here with me today.” She squeezes my hands.

“You don’t have to thank me. It was truly a team effort.” I squeeze her hands back, and then she pulls me into a hug. 

“Good luck with everything. _And with finding love_ ,” she whispers softly. I quickly glance at Ethan, yearning slowly settling in my eyes. She pulls back, gripping my shoulders. “When you do, don’t ever let it go. Trust me.” She gives me a kind smile and joins her love in the elevator. We all wave until the doors close.

June and Baz need to return to Edenbrook for some other casework. Tobias and Ethan head to Tobias’s office to talk, and Aurora and I return to the conference room to start clearing up. I begin to collect papers to organize and file away. 

“I guess us residents do all the intern work, huh?” I say with a relaxed laugh.

“It’s pretty amazing what both hospitals were able to accomplish together,” Aurora says, while helping me with the paperwork. 

“We’re like rock stars.” I strum the strings of my air guitar and pose with a fist held up in the air. “I think that’s a fair analogy under the recent circumstances.”

My friend softly chuckles. “I’d say you’re the lead singer of the group. You solved the case.”

“Well, someone taught me the importance of speaking to a patient to hear their story. Even the little details can bring upon a clue for a diagnosis.”

“Ethan?”

I quickly glance at Aurora from the side and return to filing papers.

She appears to get the hint and changes the topic. “Could you imagine what both hospitals could do if we worked together?” 

“Like if there were to be a merger?”

Aurora flashes me a conspiratorial smile. “They’re trying to find a way to merge Edenbrook and Mass Kenmore. They’re researching the _how_ , right? Well, this is it.” She waves her arm as if she’s just revealed a prize. 

“Focus on our teams’ partnerships in solving medical mysteries?” I ask.

“Yes. If we focus on the relationship between the teams, and how other doctors fit into the framework, it could be an impressive argument.”

“Edenbrook’s diagnostics team is already renowned nationwide.” I go to erase the whiteboards. “Add Mass Kenmore’s talent to it, and both Boards will see us as a valuable asset in uniting the hospitals.”

“We’d have to write a proposal to prove how vital this partnership would be, along with showing the beneficial relationship to each department.”

“Like the surgical department.”

“Yes!” Aurora finds a blank piece of paper and a pen and begins jotting down notes. We continue discussing our plan with my partner’s exquisite note-taking skills. “We should take this to Ethan and Tobias. Because of their influence, they could present these ideas to the Boards.”

“Do you think they’re still here?” I look towards the door.

“Let’s go see,” she says, gathering her notes.

I follow Aurora up to Tobias’s office. The door is cracked open with light pouring out. I can hear Ethan’s distinguishable deep, calm voice. I nod to Aurora, who knocks. 

“Come in.” Tobias sounds annoyed.

Ethan is sitting across from Tobias’s desk, reclining in a chair with one leg crossed over the other. There’s a coffee mug sitting on the desktop in front of him. Are they back to being friends now? 

“Sorry to interrupt but we wanted to present something to you both,” Aurora says, taking the lead. “We think we have a solution to the merger.”

Tobias scoffs with a dismissive smirk, but it doesn’t phase Aurora, who hands him her notes.

“Both administrations have been working on a plan all year. No offense, but do two second-year residents actually believe they have something better?” Tobias looks between us.

“Maybe.” My friend says confidently.

Ethan remains silent, but his gaze rarely moves from me. 

We explain our plan as Tobias reviews the notes and hands them off to Ethan. There’s a long silence when we’re finished. I feel sweat forming on my palms and the nape of my neck. I bite my lower lip, waiting for Ethan to look up from the papers. He’s rubbing his chin as his eyes glide across them. Finally, he sets them on his lap.

“This partnership falls entirely on the diagnostics team’s shoulders. The Board could use it as leverage and interfere with its work if this is the path you are describing.” Ethan hands the notes back to Aurora. “I can’t jeopardize the team in this way.”

“That’s why we came to you both. You can help us flesh out the ideas. If there’s anyone who knows these hospitals better than the Chiefs, it’s you two,” I say, holding Ethan’s gaze. “Plus, seeing you both working together, two frenemies uniting for a greater cause, proves this could work.”

Tobias and Ethan glance at each other. 

“In fact, we should get input from both teams and work on the proposal together. That will truly show our unity,” Aurora adds. 

A large grin crosses Tobias’s lips. “Okay. I take back what I said. I honestly agree with this idea.”

Ethan snaps his head towards Tobias. “You can’t be serious.”

“Face it, Ethan. If we wait for the administration to do something, we probably won’t even have jobs in the next few months. This is a smart idea and a great shot.”

My mouth parts slightly open, shocked at how Tobias is actually batting for us. But Ethan groans in his usual frustrated way. 

“Why don’t you two wait outside for a sec?” Tobias points to the door.

It takes about 10 minutes until the door swings open and Ethan steps out. “We meet here directly after our shifts every day until that proposal is finished. Starting tomorrow.” 

I can tell how angry he had become because the pinkness in his cheeks is now beginning to fade. But with how heavy his steps are when he walks away and disappears down the hall, I know he’s still upset. An amused smile spreads across my face.

* * *

I’m pacing outside a set of double doors. Aurora is leaning back against the wall across from them. Inside the room is Tobias and Ethan working their magic on the Edenbrook Board. They already presented our proposal to Mass Kenmore yesterday. We had worked day and night, weekdays and weekends, for the past two weeks on this proposal. I don’t even remember what my bedroom looks like. 

I can feel my nerves settling in. If I was still on my anxiety medication, I would be popping a pill right now.

“How are you not nervous?” I ask Aurora.

“Believe me I am. I think I’m just better at hiding it.”

The doorknob turns, and I jump back. Ethan and Tobias file out. I peek inside before the door closes and see Naveen. He’s looking in our direction and smiling gently. 

“Well?” I say.

“We’ll see.” That’s the same thing Ethan said yesterday.

Tobias claps Ethan on the shoulder. “What he means is they were quite receptive to the ideas.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean they agree,” Ethan rebuttals. 

“Has he always been this cynical?” Tobias turns to me. “It’s like talking to a wall sometimes.”

“You missed his critical cynical years. You get used to it after a while.” My lips part in a grin as I give Ethan a teasing look. 

Ethan rolls his eyes while both Aurora and I chuckle. 

“Come on, Aurora. We got things to take care of.” Tobias and Aurora depart, leaving Ethan and me alone in the hallway.

“Do you have some time right now?” Ethan’s blue gaze finds my brown one. 

“Yes. Do you need help with something?” 

“I was going to go to Derry Roasters if you’d like to come along. I think we deserve a moment to breathe after the work we accomplished.”

“Sure.” 

I see his entire expression soften with just the utterance of that single word. 

We make the walk to his coffee shop in a comfortable silence. We order and he offers to pay. His usual table by the window is open, and I follow him to it. He stares quietly out towards the street, never once touching his coffee. I blow on mine and take a sip. 

“How are you and your family?” He breaks the silence between us, even though the room is filled with chatter from other customers. 

Considering our current relationship, I don’t know how I should answer, if at all. But the need to speak to him like my confidant currently outweighs my concerns. 

“It’s getting a little easier day by day. I think I’ve made it past the worst part of it. But we’re all making our progress in our own ways.”

Ethan nods in understanding. “It’s a relief to hear that.”

I can see that he wants to say more, but he seems to be holding back. I take another sip of my coffee. “Anyway, Jacob asks about you all the time.”

The corners of his lips quirk into a light smile. “I did watch one of those Captain America movies.”

“No, you didn’t!” I lean forward, flashing him a surprised look.

He chuckles. “I did. I failed to see the resemblance.”

He continues chuckling, with joy shone in his eyes. My own laugh floats up from my throat, sincere and undiluted. I can feel my own joy bubbling in my chest at sharing this rare moment with him. It’s a carefree and familiar moment that I’ve terribly missed between us.

“I’m proud of you, Lewis,” he says a beat after his chuckling ceases. 

I’d begun to pick up my coffee, but immediately set it down. “For what?”

“The diagnosis that saved Carrera’s life. The proposal idea.” His eyes wander to mine and hold my gaze. “Ever since your application, I knew you were someone special. But I never realized how inspiring you’d become… you’d become to me.”

My mouth falls open. “Dr. Ramsey, I…”

“I know I can be cynical. But after all of the idiocy I’ve had to deal with from interns over the years, watching you work these past weeks has left me in awe. You’ve been the best resident I’ve worked with in a long time. And if this proposal doesn’t work, and the hospital finds no solution, I truly believe you’ll be a great doctor no matter where you continue your residency.”

I beam a smile at him and begin to revel in his openness towards me. I’m tempted to tease him about my growing ego, but I think he’s had enough teasing for one day.

Ethan finally tastes his coffee and then continues speaking. “I remember you once asked me if I was speaking to you as Ethan or as Dr. Ramsey. Can I speak to you as Ethan?”

I grip the handle on the coffee mug, as my pulse quickens. “All right.”

“I wanted to explain why I wasn’t open to the proposal at first.”

“I get it. You don’t want the team being used unethically.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the main reason.”

“What do you mean?”

He leans back into the chair, his expression turning uneasy. “I never told you this but I didn’t only go to the Amazon just to restart things with you.” 

I tilt my head, confused. 

He lets out an unsettling sigh. “I was also afraid of failing Naveen again. I wanted to start over with him too.”

“Ethan, you still haven’t forgiven yourself?”

He shakes his head. “A part of me believed that if Edenbrook closed, then I wouldn’t be to blame for leading the team to its doom.”

I gasp. “What?” My nostrils flare and my cheeks burn in a hot rage. “Who are you? I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“Zyra—”

“No, Ethan. You can sit here in all your self-loathing, but that doesn’t change that fact that you still have a responsibility to the team, to Naveen, and to our patients. The Ethan Ramsey I know would have never even considered turning his back on them. I swear, when you came back from the Amazon, you became an entirely different person. A complete _ass_!”

“You don’t know what it was like there, not having control over who lived or died.” His anger flares right back. “Watching people you desperately tried to save die one after another. I just realized that I couldn’t control what happens at Edenbrook either. We can only choose what we can control.”

I frown and mentally chastise myself. How did I not know there was more to the Amazon than Ethan let on? I frown and lean forward, my hand glides across the table to rest on top of his.

“Ethan, I had no idea. I can’t imagine what seeing that kind of death can do to a person.”

He stares down at my hand as he talks, his tone now more somber. “I’ve never told anyone. But those aren’t the nightmares that keep me up at night. Not anymore.”

“What are your nightmares about?”

His gaze wanders and finally reaches mine, but he doesn’t answer my question. But the way he holds my gaze makes me suspect what it could be. And my breath catches at the thought. 

“But when I said you inspire me, I meant it. You made me realize I was wrong, and that I had to fight for our patients in any way possible. I didn’t truly get it with your idea for our rich patients because I was being stubborn and didn’t want to understand. But I get it now.” His forehead creases with worry. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

“Me too.”

His thumb caresses the back of my hand, and it feels as natural as breathing. 

“I’m sorry for everything.”

“Ethan, we’ve already been through this.”

“No, we haven’t. I hadn’t treated you fairly, and I can’t keep blaming my behavior on my past or on what I believe.” His fingers curl around my hand. “What you told me about my mom, it’s a hard truth I never wanted to face.” 

“I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“No. I’m thankful you did. It’s helped me begin to understand things about myself.”

“Like what?”

“That you were right. That perhaps I’m more like my mom than I thought. I run away from my problems and that hurts the people important to me.” I feel his grip loosen. “It’s a bit disquieting.”

“Well, it took me a while for me to understand something too. You were suffering too.” I hold his hand back, tightening the grip. “You were trying to do what was right for my career. But I just wish you’d talked to me about it instead of making this one-sided decision. Maybe then we both would have understood each other better and tried to figure out something together instead of alone.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“I know. And you were. Sometimes when we want the best for someone, we may make a mistake. But you taught me to learn from our mistakes and move on. That doesn’t just apply to being a doctor, Ethan.”

He’s silent, regarding me with a glint of curiosity. He looks as if he is weighing a question.

“I’ve been working on it. For you.”

I stare wordlessly across at him, my heart pounding. “Ethan, that’s great, but do it for yourself, not for me.”

His fingers tense against my hand. There’s a pensive shimmer in the shadow of his eyes. “So where does this leave us? Do we have a chance to work on whatever this is between us?”

“Ethan…” I slip my hand from his and let it fall onto my lap. “I meant what I said. That window has closed.”

“Is this because of Lahela?”

I flinch at his question. “What? Bryce? Why would you think that?”

He hesitates, appearing to measure me for a moment. “I didn’t want to presume anything between you two.”

“Well, it sure as hell sounds like you are.” I glare at him, frowning, almost tempted to throw Harper into his face. “And even if we were together, who I date is none of your business.”

He stiffens as though I have struck him. “Zyra, I’m sorry.”

I look down into my half-drunken coffee and sigh. “Look, we never really knew what this was between us. Perhaps we should just focus on what we do know. You’re my boss and my mentor. I’m your resident. We’re colleagues. That should be enough for now.” I look up at him, his eyes wistful. “It has to be.” 

“You’re right,” he says calmly in an even tone. Dr. Ramsey has returned. 

I stand up and gather my things. “You coming?”

“I’m going to stay for a bit longer.” 

“Okay. Thank you for the coffee and the talk. I’ll see you back at the hospital.” 

We exchange small smiles, but his is almost apologetic. I leave, and as I walk past the window, I see that he’s already gazing out through it. I give him a simple wave, to which he nods. With each step I take away from him, I walk against the pull he has one me. Like expanding a rubber band with my fingers, I wonder how long it will take before I snap back to him.

* * *

“The merger will begin next month,” Naveen addresses the hospital staff. He talks about the merger with such enthusiasm and optimism. But gasps and chitchat fill the auditorium when Naveen mentions potential layoffs. 

“I hope we don’t lose our jobs,” Sienna says.

“I’m sure Zyra’s job is safe though, considering she helped write that proposal.” Jackie pats my back.

“I think we’ll be fine. And besides, it looks like Mass Kenmore has some resources we don’t. I can’t wait to see what their ORs looks like.” Bryce drapes his arm across the back of my chair. 

Elijah joins the conversation. “I’m looking forward to the research opportunities they’re expanding into.”

We begin to filter out of the auditorium after Naveen has answered everyone’s questions. Standing in the back is Ethan. I approach him with a wide smile beaming across my face. 

We’re one of the few remaining, with Naveen making his way up the aisle in our direction. 

“Congratulations, you two.” He smiles at Ethan. “And don’t worry, the team will be well taken care of. Both Boards approved of everything in the proposal for the team. And that means you won’t have some administrator telling you what to do with it.”

“Let’s hope they keep their word.” Ethan’s cold tone shows his skepticism. 

“I hope so too, my friend.” Naveen walks out, leaving the entire auditorium to ourselves.

I hold my hand up, palm facing Ethan. He has his arms folded across his chest.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“It’s called a high five.” I take his wrist, releasing his arm from its entrapment and slap my palm against his. “We did it!”

He shakes his head and allows himself to smile. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

“You and this pain-in-your-ass make a pretty remarkable team.”

We both laugh in unison, our palms still pressed together. Ethan appears to be acutely aware as I am, because he lets the touch linger. Our fingers slowly entwine, and we stare with longing at each other. As I search the shifting blue lights of his eyes, Ms. Dorian’s words about finding love echo in my mind.

_When you do, don’t ever let it go. Trust me._

This isn’t what we agreed upon, but why are we so terrible at not being able to keep our hands to ourselves? And why am I so terrible at ending things with him? Such a simple touch pulls me to him even more, and it makes me wonder if he is indeed the one. The way he returns my gaze, I wonder if he’s pondering the same thing.

_I don’t want to let go. Not yet._

Suddenly, Ethan clears his throat and releases our hands. I nearly let out an audible sigh of relief for him having the strength I didn’t. 

“I need to check on the transfer papers for the intake coming in from Mount Mercy tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I reply, my face finally cooling down. 

My phone vibrates. I pull it out and see it’s from home. “I need to take this. I’ll meet you back in the office later.”

When Ethan exits, I answer, believing the caller to be Jacob. “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”

“Zyra, it’s Uncle Richie.” 

Uncle Richie was my dad’s best friend. They were friends the moment Papa moved to Colorado, 35 years ago. They met while working at the same manufacturing plant. He’s been checking in on Mama and Jacob from time to time. He’s called a few times, so a call from him isn’t out of the ordinary. But the tone of his voice is. 

“We need to talk. Elliot isn’t answering his phone, and I’m worried about your mom and Jacob.”


	19. The Solution (WITHHOLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zyra is still struggling with her fears and uncovering new ones. But it may take the actions of a former Edenbrook patient and an incident involving Ethan to help her find a solution towards healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if Ed Farrugia is a state senator or a U.S. senator, so I’m making him a state senator because he appears to be working on state-level legislation in the book.

A violent jolt within my body forces me awake. It’s like the abrupt shock from a powerful touch of static electricity. But instead of the shock attacking a small, centralized area, it attacks my entire body, coercing every nerve ending to fire. My eyes shoot open, which are swimming within a thick layer of unfallen tears. A sudden gasp dares to escape but gets caught in the back of my throat. I choke on air that I can’t seem to let settle in my lungs. It makes my chest burn with the heat spreading like a forest fire. My pillow feels wet. It’s probably drowning in the sweat that’s cascading down my forehead and my neck. Even the collar of my shirt is soaked. 

I’m not awakened by another erotic dream about Ethan. Nor was it a nightmare of my loved ones dying on repeat, leaving me drenched in the aftermath of my own fears. But there is something hanging over me. It reminds me of the bitter, unnerving cold left behind by the blackest, most foreboding cloud on a day forecasted to be sunny and clear. It’s a feeling that has left me unsettled and confused. Something has shifted in the world and not in a good way. I turn over onto my side, but the movement awakens aches I didn’t even realize I had. It feels like I’ve been hit by a car. 

It is barely even dawn. The sun has only started to rise, leaving my room to remain blanketed in the darkness of last night. It makes it easy to notice when my phone screen lights up a few minutes after my body has calmed. I reach for it on my nightstand and see a Pictogram notification. It’s a direct message from Gwenyth Monroe. I haven’t heard from her since contacting her about coming to Edenbrook. I sit up and rush to open it.

**_Keep a look out for an article from the Boston Globe this week. You’ll know once you see it. It’ll be hard to miss!_ **

I type a reply back asking for more details, but no response ever comes. 

I told my roommates about Gwenyth yesterday. There have been some whispers about it in the hallways, according to Sienna, but I haven’t heard anything. It’s probably because I haven’t been paying attention like I usually would have before Papa passed. My mind is usually elsewhere when passing through the hallways. Has Jacob been opening up more yet? How can I help Elliot with some of the burden? How’s Mama doing in her grief counseling group? There must have been a way to save Papa, right? The man in room 245 reminds me so much of Papa. Should I sneak into this on-call room for a moment to cry?

Last night, I began to catch up on what I’ve been missing. My friends and I sat down at the table pouring over Gwenyth’s feed, reading posts, watching videos, and gathering information about her crowdfund campaign. She even included posts with information about the state budget, how non-profit hospitals get funding, the types of community services specific hospitals offer, and other information to inform her followers on the budget issue. She has apparently been on this issue ever since her discharge from Edenbrook months ago, building up a network of information, funding, and supporters. I may have underestimated her as just an influencer. Her posts from before she came to Edenbrook to now are like night and day. She’s no longer focused on herself, but on a greater cause to help others in need. We’ve all decided to spread the word around the hospital, and Aurora will be doing the same at Mass Kenmore. 

The uneasy feeling, and now this new curiosity, keeps me from going back to bed. I note the time and see that I have a couple of hours before my alarm rings. I head to the kitchen, taking quiet steps to not awaken my roommates. I search the fridge for a banana and a cup of yogurt. This breakfast routine has become the point of the day when I eat the most. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. _Baby steps._

After pulling back the label on the yogurt, my nose crinkles when it’s suddenly hit with the smell of strawberries. I dip the banana into the cup, using it to scoop out the creamy texture, while scrolling through Gwenyth’s Pictogram posts for any clues to her message. There are a lot of reposts from people who have made personal videos about their experiences, not only at Edenbrook, but also at other non-profit hospitals in Massachusetts. It’s amazing how viral something can become. Even the crowdfund she has for Edenbrook and the Hope Springs charity have gained tens of thousands of more dollars since I saw the post yesterday. 

_Gwenyth, what is your plan?_

I stop at a repost from a former patient. It’s Eddie Thorton, the trust fund kid. He didn’t make a video, but took an obviously staged picture of him lounging under a palm tree on a beach. According to the tag, it’s in Palm Cove, Australia. 

**_Hey all! Edenbrook’s in big trouble. Gotta save it! I already donated my share. I’m working with @TheGwenythMonroe to match contributions to the crowdfund. See link in my bio! They saved my life. I had something called Whitmore’s disease! Scary! But it’s not stopping me from traveling thanks to the awesome docs who saved me. A big shout out to the 🔥 diagnostics team there. Didn’t even know something like that existed! Check out the work they do. It’s like some superhero shit! AMAZING! But my ❤️ will forever belong to Dr. Lewis. I hope you see this post. Marry me, girl! We’ll travel the world together! I do like me an older woman!_ **

**_#SaveEdenbrook #SaveMassKenmore #SaveMassHospitals #DonateToSaveLives #WhitmoreDiseaseNoJoke #EdenbrookDiagnosticsTeam #ThankYou #LovingLife #Travel #Australia #Beaches #DocsRule #MarryMeDoc #Proposal_ **

I stare at the post in both awe and in amusement. I can’t believe the effort some of our rich patients are going through to help us. I wouldn’t have even imagined that they would give back in this way and with our younger patients using their platforms to spread the word. I wipe away a tear that’s hanging in the corner of my right eye. It could be due to his hilarious online proposal or to how touched I feel by the compassion. 

I’m going to make it my mission to speak with Ethan about it today. We need to bring this up to Naveen as soon as possible. The logistics of receiving these donations is of utmost importance. 

As I continue my breakfast and Pictogram consumption, Jackie strolls into the kitchen and past me without a word. I glance at her from the side. She turns on the coffee and pulls a mug from the cabinet. I return my focus back to my phone, but I have the urge to get up and leave. We didn’t interact last night or during much of most nights prior. 

“Do you want some coffee?” she asks me. Our string of avoiding each other has officially ended.

I just shake my head.

“Come on, Zyra. I’m trying to make a peace offering here.” Her tone sounds slightly annoyed. As if she has the right to even feel that way after what she said to me. 

My gaze remains plastered to my phone, as I pretend to look preoccupied. My voice is calm but firm. “Perhaps you should have begun with an apology.”

She lets the silence linger between us for a moment before she speaks. “I shouldn’t have said that in front of Esme. I’m sorry.”

I’ve been able to outwardly remain calm, but now I can feel my anger boiling at the surface, readying to erupt like a hot kettle. I bite my lip to suppress my sudden need to yell at her and wake our roommates. 

“Wow. You really don’t get it, do you, Jackie?” I say with a sudden note of contempt in my voice.

“I said I was sorry.” She’s failing at trying to sound sincere. 

“Sorry for what? Implying I’m a slut right in front of my intern?” I narrow my eyes at her, feeling an intense heat burn within them. “You know, what hurts more is that you actually believe that I would sleep my way onto the team. That’s not someone I would consider a friend, Jackie. And until you truly understand what you did, you can keep your damn apology.” I toss away my half-eaten banana and yogurt. “If you don’t mind, I need to get ready for work.”

* * *

I decide to go in early because I’m too anxious to be sitting around the apartment waiting for my alarm to go off. And I need to get away from Jackie before I say something I might regret later. My first stop is the diagnostics office. Workaholic Ethan makes it a habit of coming in early, but the lights are off inside and the door is locked. Maybe it was like last time, so I decide to knock. I try to peek through the glass door to see if he will make an appearance, but my knock goes unanswered. 

For some reason, that unsettling feeling returns to me, and I suddenly forget how to breathe for a second. I close my eyes and take in and release slow, steady breaths until the feeling subsides. 

To kill some time before my shift starts, I go down a few floors to Kyra’s room. Bryce is already with her. They’re laughing about something when I walk in. 

Kyra waves. “Hey, Zyra! You’re here early.”

“So is Bryce, I see.” I flash them both a relieved smile. It’s great to see two of my _actual_ friends this morning.

“I can’t keep this one away,” she says, as she pokes Bryce’s forearm.

I look between them. “Seems like he’s taking really good care of you.”

“He’s definitely become my post-op hero.” They both chuckle simultaneously as they exchange a knowing look between them. 

“Well, I was just about to head off. I scored an early surgery with Dr. Tanaka.” Bryce stands from his chair at Kyra’s bedside. 

“You’re sex personified when you’re about to save someone’s life.” Kyra’s friendly smile curves into a seductive one. Her eyes are sparkling with lust as she looks at Bryce. 

I stare stupefied. My eyes slowly widen as an unforeseen scene plays out right in front of me. 

Bryce bends over and gives her a soft kiss on the lips, in which Kyra returns. The way their lips are firmly pressed against one another makes it seem as if they are trying to hold back some unreleased passion in front of their audience—me. 

“Hold that in your thoughts for later,” Bryce tells her after breaking the kiss and giving her a flirtatious wink. “Look after her for me,” he says to me before he leaves. 

I slowly nod my head, my eyes still bulging and wide, my mouth now fully agape. 

How did I miss this? Bryce has always been at Kyra’s bedside and in the pictures she texts me. The evidence was right in front of me this entire time. I’m beginning to realize how oblivious I’ve become to my surroundings. When did I become so selfish? First, I didn’t realize what Gwenyth has been doing to help Edenbrook, and now I didn’t even see how two of my closest friends have fallen for each other. I also threw myself at Ethan yesterday because I wanted him without truly considering the consequences. I’ve been so angry at the world for everything, but my true anger has always been directed at myself. I can’t seem to be able to help the people I care about. Now adding to that, I can’t even recognize anything outside of my own pain. 

Kyra throws her head back and laughs at me, rightfully amused by my reaction. Thankfully, she can’t read my true conflict brewing within.

“When did you two become a thing?” I finally ask her, my pitch being a bit higher than normal. I feel a sting of heat pinch my cheeks.

“I guess it’s just been slowly happening ever since my surgery. And then one day it just hit us.”

“It was… _inevitable_.” When I say the last word, I am hit with a pang in my chest, built from a long history of longing and hope for one man. 

“Yes. That would be the perfect word to describe it.” 

I smile warmly, masking my own feelings I’m reliving through this conversation. “I’m so happy for you two.” _And I mean every word._

“We have to be careful at times, especially around Dr. Fitzgerald. You know how it is. Doctor-patient relationships aren’t exactly appropriate.”

 _Neither are boss-employee ones._ I nod to her in understanding.

“But I’m getting discharged on Friday, so to hell with it! I got a second chance at life, and I’m not letting something like some unspoken rule keep us from sneaking in moments together.” 

“That’s my Kyra. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you.” I break into a short laugh.

It makes me wonder if that is something Ethan and I could have done—being together but stealing moments with each other when we could. Would that have worked, or would it have only added to the complications? If we had given it a shot back then, maybe things would have been different. He probably would have still had my trust. And perhaps I would have had him at my side when Papa died, making an unspeakably tragic situation even slightly more possible to deal with. After seeing the way Bryce and Kyra looked at each other, seeing the intimacy in their kiss and touches, I wish I had that with Ethan; no, I wish I had that _back_ with Ethan but without the complications of work hanging over our heads. But I’m sure there’s one thing those two have that Ethan and I don’t—trust. In addition to wanting Papa back, I also want my trust for Ethan back. I know I can never have one. But will I ever be able to have the other? 

I turn my attention to our mini skyline of downtown Boston made from empty Jello cups. Doing this with Kyra has been the one thing to temporarily distract myself from my pain. 

“This one’s new.” I point to a three-tiered building. 

“Oh, Dr. Fitzgerald helped with that one. He brought me some more cups. He even drew the windows.”

I blink a few times, trying to let the information register. “Dr. Fitzgerald? The Ice King, Dr. Fitzgerald?” 

“That’s cold, even for you,” she says with a laugh, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry. He’s just never seemed—”

“Kind?” 

“Well, yeah.” 

“I’m sure a lot of people say that about Dr. Ramsey, but I’m sure you could beg to differ.” She cocks an eyebrow to match her accusatory smirk. “Besides, I’m a very likeable person. Who wouldn’t warm up to me?”

“You got me there.” 

Guilt begins to bloom in my stomach for being such a judgmental ass. I guess the way Dr. Fitzgerald interacts with me is nothing dissimilar from the way Ethan interacts with others. Many doctors and nurses are afraid of Ethan, but he takes his job seriously to where he lacks patience for incompetence and slack. This is because every amount of energy and focus should be directed towards the patient, and when he doesn’t see that standard being held by those he’s working with, he’s not afraid to directly call someone out on their behavior. That can become intimidating to others. Just last week, he scolded an attending for his constant small talk during a consultation, which diverted away from the patient’s case. I saw all of the color drain from his face. I understand Ethan’s personality, and perhaps Dr. Fitzgerald has opened up to Kyra in a way in which she understands his, too. I know he took on the experimental surgery because he’s not just the Chief of Surgery, but because he’s also one of the top thoracic surgeons in the country. But Bryce said it didn’t take much convincing to get his Chief to do the surgery. I wonder why. 

“My shift starts soon. Let’s finish building the John Hancock Tower later.”

I smile to myself when retreating down the hall, thinking about all of the good things happening to my friend. The surgery worked and she may be closer to being cancer free. She has a blossoming relationship with Bryce, and it appears she’s made a friend in Dr. Fitzgerald. She is a true example of the light after the darkness of a tragedy. Kyra’s always had a positive attitude, which I believe has helped her reach this point. 

_I wish I could do the same, my friend. It’s been harder than I thought._

I can feel my smile slowly fade away.

“Zyra,” Chief Banerji greets me as he walks towards me down the hall, pulling me from my train of thoughts. “I opened the diagnostics office, in case that’s where you’re headed. Ethan will be out for a couple of days, so June will be in charge until he returns.”

I reach up to pull on my collar. That uneasy feeling begins to stir in the pit of my stomach. “Is Ethan okay?”

A sudden expression of discomfort flashes across his face, but as quick as a single breath, it disappears behind his usual kind smile and eyes. “Yes. He’ll return within the week.”

For some reason, his response doesn’t comfort me at all. But now that he’s here and I have his attention, perhaps I can speak to him about Gwenyth. 

“Chief Banerji, do you have a minute or two?”

“Of course. Let’s head up to my office.”

He closes the door behind us once we enter and motions towards the seat in front of his desk, which I take. 

“How are you, by the way? I apologize that I haven’t checked in on you since you returned.” He sits in a plush, leather office chair on the opposite side of his desk, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes fully attentive on me. 

“I’m okay.” I brave his eyes and shoot him a grin. 

“We’ve been worried about you.”

“We?”

“Ethan and I.”

I smile faintly at his words. “I appreciate it. I’m okay. Really.”

The Chief quietly studies me. I already know what’s running through his mind. It’s the same look almost everyone gives me these days because of the amount of weight I’ve lost. So I can imagine how unconvincing I might appear to him right now.

“Well, if there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I am your grandmentor, afterall,” he says, his smile full and wide. 

I nearly snort out a laugh. “Thank you, Chief Banerji. That means more than you know.”

“Well then,” he continues, while sitting back in his chair, clearly satisfied with my response. “What did you want to discuss?”

I pull out my phone, bring up Gwenyth’s post about Edenbrook, and hand it to him. “This was a former patient of the diagnostics team, Gwenyth Monroe.”

“Yes, I remember her. She had all the cameras in her room,” he says, clearly amused by the memory.

I answer with a soft laugh. “Now she’s advocating for Edenbrook and other non-profit hospitals that will be affected by the new state budget. She’s even set up a crowdfund, see?”

His expression turns serious, his face having a distant look. He hands me back my phone. “I am already well aware. She’d contacted Ethan about a month after she was discharged. He brought it to my attention, and I’ve stayed in touch with Ms. Monroe about the donations.”

“What? Ethan knew about this?” My phone nearly slips from my grip.

He nods. “Of course. It’s not something we wanted to get out just yet.”

Ethan had kept this knowledge from me? That explains his hesitation during our conversation yesterday. I’m the one who sought out Gwenyth and brought her here. The least he could have done was let me in on her plans. He’d chosen to let me in on the issues with the state funding way before it was announced to everyone at Edenbrook. Why couldn’t he tell me this, too? And why didn’t Gwenyth contact me? But then I remember that I wasn’t even here to help with her case. I’ve never even met her, but Ethan has. Then I think about how there are people here who do know about it, the talk in the hallways, Sienna had mentioned. I’m hit with the sudden weight of my own uselessness, which overtakes my anger. 

Naveen continues, “What she’s doing is admirable, but donations are only a temporary relief, Zyra. To save the hospital, we need an actual revenue stream, whether from the state budget, investments from new shareholders, a merger, or being acquired by a for-profit company. These donations can only keep us open for only months at a time. And we plan to accept them to buy us more time to find a solution. I can estimate these amounts can keep us open for another six months.”

“So the wealthy patients we’re bringing in?”

“It’s still not enough to keep us open without having to cut programs, like the free clinic.”

“And the diagnostics team?”

The Chief solemnly nods. 

“But I also heard about talks of a merger with Mass Kenmore.”

“Where did you hear this?” He repositions his glasses. His eyes look larger than usual.

 _Ethan’s adversary._ “From an attending there.”

“Take everything you hear with a grain of salt. We’re still exploring all of our options.”

I then remember the message Gwenyth sent me this morning. “Also, do you know anything about an article being published in the _Boston Globe_ this week? Gwenyth had told me to keep a lookout for it.”

Naveen shakes his head. “I can’t say that I do. Did she mention anything else?”

“No, but do you think it has anything to do with her activism?” 

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” 

I press a hand to my forehead. “H-how did I not know about this? Any of this?” 

A glimmer of sympathy comes into his eyes. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve had a lot going on. You’ve been understandably distracted. But Zyra,” he leans forward, reaches across his desk, and takes his hands in mine. “The administration is looking into every option right now. You just focus on your work. Leave this concern to me.” He gives my hands a gentle squeeze before he lets go. “I’ll let everyone know the direction Edenbrook is heading once I have a definite answer.”

 _Control what we can control_.

“But if there’s anything I can do, I will, Chief.” 

“I know. I wouldn’t be here if you had given up the fight, Zyra.” 

Tears begin to rise up in my throat. I clasp a hand to my throat to quell them.

“Do you know why I put you on the team?” He looks at me as if something’s been weighing on his mind. 

“Because I was at the top in the competition?”

“Well, yes, of course.” His eyes flash with humor, and then he smiles. “But there was something else.”

I sit up straight on the edge of my chair. I can feel a cold sweat forming on my body as I wait for Chief Banerji’s response.

“When you and Ethan were working together to help diagnose me, I noticed something.” He pauses, his smile and eyes growing warm as his gaze never wavers from me. “You two bring out the best in each other. Ethan is the type who needs to be challenged. He thrives on it, and you were the person who challenged him to no ends. And you still do.”  
  
“What are you saying?” My brows knit into a thoughtful frown.

“Inspiration can go both ways, Zyra. When I was mentoring Ethan… well, I still am in many ways.” He chuckles. “He probably believed I inspired him. But the truth is he inspired me in my work as well. I’ve mentored others over the years, but Ethan brought out things in me no one else ever did. That only made me an even better doctor, and I can admit that even I can still learn something new at my age. And that is what I see between you two now.”

“So you put me on the team because you wanted the best for him?”

“The best for you _both_.” His smile widens across his face, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I love Ethan as my own son. And because I love him, I always push him to strive to go beyond his own potential.”

I feel a warm blush flood my cheeks, and I downcast my eyes for a moment. 

_Ethan can’t push me if he…_

I bite my lip as I struggle to understand where this conversation is headed. When Ethan and I got together briefly, he’d mentioned that he didn’t want to give his mentor the satisfaction that he was right about us. If Chief Banerji knew about our romantic feelings for each other, then was all of Ethan’s concerns about our feelings and all of this heartache for nothing? Or was the Chief blind to the concerns Ethan rightfully had, which is now a real concern thanks to Jackie?

“Well, I know that Ethan loves you, too,” I say with a smile. My pager goes off and it’s from June. “I should probably go answer this. Thanks for the talk, Chief Banerji.” I stand up and begin to head out.

“Zyra.” I turn around at the call of my name. “If there’s one thing to remember it’s that love is the greatest push of all,” he says with a meaningful look in his eyes.

Is he telling me what I think he’s telling me? I bite my lip again, this time gnawing on it to the point of breaking skin. I swallow hard and nod. I fumble with the door knob before opening it and exiting his office. 

I lean back against the wall outside the door and give myself a few seconds to take a few breaths. I notice the strong grip I still have on my phone. I stare down at it, contemplating something. I may have overstepped yesterday, but a text can’t be overstepping, can it? I decide to text Ethan, regardless. We’re still supposed to be friends, right?

**ZYRA LEWIS: I heard you’re out for a few days this week. I hope everything is OK.**

I wait for the three dots to appear. I continue chewing on my lip as my stomach growls with apprehension. Ethan may be in Providence with his dad. Perhaps he’s dealing with something related to his mom. There’s no use in waiting for a reply right now. But there’s nothing I want more right now than to hear from him. I just want to hear one little word to know that he’s okay. _Please be okay, Ethan_.

I reach the diagnostics office and see the conference table empty. Instead, June is sitting a little too comfortably in Ethan’s chair at his desk. The light on his coffee machine is on. A mug is sitting in front of her with a clear stream of hot steam rising from it. Baz is in one of the two chairs opposite her. 

“You’re late.” She eyes me sternly.

“Sorry. I was speaking with the Chief.” I sit next to Baz. We exchange small smiles. 

“So then you’re aware of Ethan’s absence,” June says.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Good. Then we can proceed with our new patient case.” She opens one of Ethan’s desk drawers, moving things around while searching for something.

“What are you doing? I don’t think Ethan would appreciate you rifling through his things.” My voice holds an angry tremor.

“Relax, Zyra. I’m only looking for a pen.” She smiles as she says it. 

Baz leans towards me and whispers, “ _Do you know why Ethan isn’t here?_ ” A frown creases his forehead.

As I shake my head, I feel a strange lurch of my heart.

June pulls a pen out and clicks it, getting our attention. “So this is where we’re at.” 

* * *

Tuesday morning rolls around and it becomes another day without hearing from Ethan. I get off the T and walk around the back near the makeshift basketball court. It’s currently empty. There’s no shirtless Bryce showing off with some jump shot. There’s no obnoxious heckling among the usual group in his surgical cohort. The court is still and quiet, the opposite of its purpose. 

I’m not ready to begin my day. I hesitate going inside by grabbing the basketball left around the corner near where an ambulance is parked. I let my bag fall from my shoulder, leaving it behind me against the wall. I bounce the ball, taking slow steps towards the court and finally stopping where the free throw line would be if there was one painted on the ground. I aim and release both the ball and my breath, a cathartic release to help me temporarily escape from my recent bouts of stress.

But my shot misses and bounces off the backboard. I lift my head towards the sky, close my eyes, and mutter a disgruntled _fuck_. 

The sound of the ball bouncing with approaching footsteps forces my eyes to open and turn towards the sound. 

“Hey, Zyra.” Rafael proceeds towards me with the ball. He stops besides me and shoots with the ball swishing in the net. 

“And I thought Bryce was the showoff.” A smile breaks through my lips.

“Sorry about that.” He slips his hands into the pocket of his jeans. A small grin creases his face as his gaze follows the basketball, which is now resting between us and the hoop. 

“How’ve you been?” I ask.

He strolls towards the ball and picks it up. “I was fired.” He makes another basket. 

Rafael catches the ball before it hits the ground, turns to me, and passes me the ball. 

When I catch it in both hands, my entire body freezes at the news. “What?”

“Yeah. They say I’m too much of a liability.” He shrugs. “It’s okay.” He holds his hands out and I toss him back the ball. He takes another shot, but it bounces off the rim, heading in my direction. I catch it after it makes a single bounce on the ground.

“What are you gonna do?” I hold the ball against my hip.

“I’m gonna go stay in Brazil with my cousin for a bit. You know, until I figure out what to do next.”

My arm tenses against the ball. “You-you’re leaving?”

Rafael’s gaze slowly wanders across the court before it reaches mine. “Yeah. But I’ll be back. I can’t leave my avó.”

I slightly bow my head, shaking it slowly. “Raf, I—”

I feel him draw me into his arms, cradling me in a tight embrace. I drop my forehead against his shoulder, my throat now tightening with tears. I hear the basketball drop to the ground when I reach around him and grip the back of his jacket. 

“I’m so sorry, Zyra. I’m sorry about what happened,” he says in a low, pained voice. “I’m sorry for avoiding you. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I say in a fragile, shaking voice.

“We both messed up.” He gently rubs my back. “I told Sora what happened. I had to.”

I lean away from him, catching his eyes with my tear-filled ones. I can feel my shame clouding my expression. 

His hands linger on my upper arms, keeping me close to him. “I realized that my heart wasn’t in the relationship, and that wasn’t fair to her. I turned to you because you were feeling as lost as I was. It doesn’t justify what we did, but I wanted to tell you that.”

I wipe at my eyes before any of my tears can fall. “I get that, Raf. I think I did it for the same reasons.”

His eyes have a faraway look in them. “Can I ask you one question though?”

“Of course. I at least owe you that.”

“Were any of those feelings real?” His thumbs begin to caress along the curves of my arms. 

I bite my lip and avert my gaze for a second before it settles back on him. At the time, all I could think about was Ethan, wishing that the man who was touching me—and whom I was touching—wasn’t Rafael. I got lost in my own selfish need to erase my pain. I turned to a friend I trusted because I couldn’t turn to the one person I needed the most. So Rafael and I turned to each other in our times of despair, but it escalated to a point where I hurt two people in the process—Rafael and Sora. 

Now I realize an additional consequence of managing my grief. I can unwittingly hurt others along the way, and it adds additional weight to my combined fears. 

“Like you said, we turned to each other because of our pain. Outside of that, the only feelings I have for you is that of a friend.” 

I can see his Adam’s apple quiver when he swallows. His hands fall from my arms, and he stuffs them back into his pockets. He takes a few steps back and turns his head as his eyes scan for something. “I’m glad you feel the same way.” He quickly jogs towards the wall, where the basketball has been sitting. He picks it up and tosses it to me. 

“So,” he begins, “if you make this shot, I’ll kick Bryce down a notch and you’ll become my best friend.” An easy smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“You can’t be serious!” My laughter comes out full, rippling through the air. “You’re gonna leave your friendships up to chance?”

“Chickening out?” His eyes gleam with amusement.

“Ha!” I point purposefully at him. “You’re gonna regret that.” I position myself, aim, and then shoot. The ball hits the inside of the rim and travels around it, like a planet orbiting a star. My eyes slowly widen, my mouth lengthening into a smile, but my face fully drops when the ball rolls off the rim and falls outside the net. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

Raf bursts out in a roaring laugh. “Oh, Zyra, you kill me!”

* * *

Rafael is now with his best friend in the gym. I wasn’t able to bump Bryce from the top spot, but I hold no hard feelings over it. I think it’ll take me a little longer to forgive myself for what had happened between me and Rafael. And the fact that we still consider each other friends gives me a sense of hope that I _can_ forgive myself eventually. Though, I can’t rid myself of this heaviness centered in my chest at the thought of him leaving. I know he’ll be back, but what if he decides to stay permanently in Brazil? 

I’m being selfish. I only want the best for him, and if going to Brazil helps him figure out his life, then that’s all that matters to me. Now I need to do the same for myself because I have failed at it so far. I’m a walking cautionary tale for excessive weight loss, my fear of losing people has risen to levels that keep me lying awake at night in my own sweat, and I feel utterly lost in how to live a life without Papa. 

I can’t afford to let my feelings overwhelm me right now. I need to get to work because people are depending on me.

I make a stop at the diagnostics office and see June busy with some paperwork behind Ethan’s desk. The sight of not seeing Ethan there has left me with a sorrow that has become a huge, painful knot inside my very soul. 

“Ethan’s still not back?” I calmly approach June, but don’t take a seat.

“Yes.” She looks up at me from a file in front of her. “I’m surprised you have no insider information, considering your history with him.”

I nearly feel myself stumble backwards. I feel a pinch of anger that she would bring that up, but also a pinch of resentment because I haven’t heard from him. “Our history is irrelevant,” I say in a weary tone. 

“If that’s how you want to describe it.” She gives me her usual condescending smile and changes the subject. “Why are you here? I didn’t page you.”

“I wanted to check in on our patient. Have the lab test results come in yet?”

“Oh, that. He’s being discharged today,” she says matter-of-factly.

I stand there, blank and amazed. “What?”

“The test results came in last night. I was able to diagnose him.”

“But why didn’t you tell us? Does Baz know?”

She folds her hands on the desk and looks directly at me. “Zyra, there was no need to tell either of you. It was a clear-cut diagnosis.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “We are supposed to make these decisions as a team. Ethan would have never—”

“But Ethan’s not here. I am,” she cuts me off. “And I had the case under control.” She returns her focus to the file in front of her. “I’ll let you know when we get another intake. I’m sure you have resident requirements to tend to.”

There are a variety of not-safe-for-work responses that I’m ready to spit out, but I take a deep breath and exit the office before I say something that will backfire. 

I retreat to the breakroom. It’s empty. It allows me to release my anger by kicking the trash can. My sight settles on a flyer that is posted above the trash can on the bulletin board. It reads _#SaveEdenbrook_. It looks like word is traveling fast now. 

I slump down into one of the chairs at the table and begin to stare at the unanswered text to Ethan from yesterday. I decide to send him another one.

**ZYRA LEWIS: Things here are not the same without our rock. Thinking of you.**

I stare at it but shake my head, knowing very well that no reply will come. Instead, I turn to Pictogram and it has blown up with a post from the Boston Globe. The original post was posted only 5 minutes ago, and it’s been reposted tens of times among those I follow. I stop on Gwenyth’s repost and read her comment:

**_Here it is! The corruption behind the lack of funding for Mass hospitals!_ **

Then I read the headline:

GOVERNOR EMBEZZLES MILLIONS FROM TAX PAYERS, BRIBES SENATORS

It takes a moment for the headline to sink in. The same governor I wined and dined with? That governor? I quickly click on the link to read the article. While reading, my eyes widen at the most damning part.

_The final state budget has passed through the House, but has been awaiting a vote in the Senate. The state budget includes a cut of $2.3 billion in social services in the state. This cut includes state hospitals. With a total of 97 hospitals statewide, 34 of them are non-profit and depend on government subsidies to maintain working operations. With an average of $1.5 million in subsidies per non-profit hospital, dependent on size, these hospitals have been struggling to find means to remain open during the next year without shuttering. Nonprofits receive subsidies due to the community service programs they offer. However, without these subsidies, many will have to cut the very programs that are designed to aid the people in their very own communities, and this will disproportionately impact Black and Brown communities the most. This can include cutting free clinics, which is a staple in many non-profits._

_Governor Rivera predicted that the cuts to social services would prevent the budget from passing through the Senate. To ensure the vote, two State Senators were bribed with taxpayer funds, Senator Ed Farrugia with $2 million and Senator Riley White with $1.6 million based on documents received from sources. This puts into question the impact this discovery has on the current state budget being held in the State Senate. Sources have confirmed that the current budget will not be voted on and a new one may be drafted._

I reread the section about the bribes again, shaking my head in dismay. The bribes alone could subsidize two hospitals. There is obviously money there!

I immediately copy the link and send it to Ethan.

**ZYRA LEWIS: Have you seen this? 😱 What does this mean for Edenbrook?**

I turn on the TV and it’s the breaking news on all of the local stations. On one channel, there’s people already protesting outside of the Massachusetts State House and demanding the resignation of the Governor and the two Senators. On another channel, reporters are following Governor Rivera, who has her head down and not replying to any of their questions, as she makes her way inside the State House. The scandal has also already made national news, as they’re discussing it on CNN, too.

I don’t hear someone enter until they speak. 

“Can you believe this?” I turn around and see Esme. “It’s like everything has stopped here. Everyone’s either on their phones or watching the TV.”

“This is unbelievable.” I look down at my phone hoping to see a reply from Ethan. Even this must have gotten his attention by now. 

“Do you think that means we’ll have our jobs next year?”

I place a hand over my mouth, shocked at what is transpiring on the screen. “I don’t know.”

Throughout the rest of the day, the scandal was the only thing everyone could talk about. Even the patients were asking all types of questions surrounding it. By midday, Chief Banerji addressed us about the breaking news, ensuring us that he would let everyone know how this will affect the hospital. He did finally address the donations and tell us that he believes it will keep us afloat until there is a final verdict on the state budget. 

I think we all need some good news right now. I just hope Edenbrook remaining open will be it.

* * *

My shift is nearly over and I still haven’t heard from Ethan. I can’t take the silence and the uncertainty. And with this shocking news about the state budget, he’s the one person I need to speak with about it. I decide to drop by his place after work. The anticipation of going to see him gets me through the final hours of my shift, and by the time I know it, I’m taking a rideshare to his apartment. 

I press on his button on the call box. _Buzz._

“Ethan? It’s me, Zyra. Are you home?”

I wait but his deep voice never pierces through the intercom. My finger tip remains hovering over the button, as my eyes drift towards the front door. Someone is heading outside. It’s a middle-aged man with a pomeranian wearing a diamond-studded collar attached to a matching leash. It’s skipping beside him with an air of _amour propre_. Can dogs even have _amour propre_? 

I pretend to look inside my bag for keys. When the man opens the door, I give him a large, grateful smile. 

“Oh, thank you! I don’t know how long I was digging in my bag, but found them!” I hold up my own keys. “And what a cute dog!”

“Cute?” he says curtly. He looks me up and down, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. I’ve seen that look many times before. It’s the look that tells me that I don’t belong here. He then turns his nose up at me and lets the door nearly close behind him. I quickly stick my foot out to stop the door from closing shut. I slip inside, relieved and already forgetting the rudeness. 

I make it up to Ethan’s apartment and knock. When there’s no answer, I press my ear against the door, hoping that I can hear something. There’s nothing but silence. I linger outside his door for about 10 minutes before I decide to head back outside. I slowly make my way through the front door and down the steps. I stop on the sidewalk and pull out my phone. Maybe if I call him? 

Before I even press the call button, Ethan’s Sedan pulls up and parks along the curb. Alan is driving. I can barely make out the features of the person sitting in the passenger seat, but I’m guessing it could be Ethan. Alan gets out and goes around the car, opening the passenger door.

“You got it?” he asks the person inside. 

The car door blocks most of the interaction, but it looks like Alan is helping the man out. And he finally comes into view once he’s fully upright. 

_Ethan!_

My heart sings with delight when I see him, creating a warm glow that flows through me. 

I start to make my way towards them. Alan grabs something from inside, closes the car door, and they both fully turn towards my direction. I notice how slow Ethan is moving, but then he comes into full view and what I see casts a cold darkness that smothers that internal warm glow.

“ _Ethan…_ ” I say in a disheartened whisper.

His right arm is in both a cast and a sling. There’s a laceration across his right cheek bone, which is stitched up and surrounded by bruising. He’s limping on his right leg, and Alan is holding onto his left arm, while carrying a white paper bag and a clear plastic bag that appears to have clothes in it. Based on how Ethan’s moving, there appears to be some injury to his hip. 

I feel a panic bubble up inside me. Ethan’s expression turns surprised when he finally notices my body standing frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. I return his surprised look. His blue eyes pierce the distance between us, with pain flickering within them. 

At this very moment, it’s as if the entire world has fallen apart around me. People have vanished into thin air, leaving buildings and cars abandoned. Nature in all its forms has been silenced. There’s no breeze in the air. No smell from the flowers planted along the sidewalk. No birds chirping or dogs barking. There’s nothing to remind me of life. The sun has been extinguished from the sky. The moon has crumbled. The light from the stars has been snuffed out. All that’s left is me and him, and we’re surrounded by nothing but our pain and suffering with nowhere to escape. 

I want to cry out to him, but I can’t open my mouth. I want to run to him, but I can’t move the muscles in my legs. I’m left in this helpless abyss where I am faced with my worst fear—I can’t help him. 

“It’s okay, Zyra.” The world slowly starts to reemerge, as I feel Alan placing my phone into the palm of my hand. I blink a few times, trying to move my gaze from Ethan to Alan. I look down and see a crack cut diagonally across my screen. _When did I drop this?_

I slowly look up and see Ethan, who is now right in front of me and so close to where I can see the details of the abrasions and scratches on his skin. He looks just as worried as I do. I feel his hand on my forearm, as if I’m the one who needs comforting. But neither of us say a word.

“Let’s get inside,” Alan says as he hands me keys. “Can you get the door while I help Ethan up the stairs?”

I go ahead of them. When I get the front door open, I look back and watch as Ethan struggles getting up the stairs. He hisses on each step. My heart begins to crack just like my phone. 

_Why isn’t there an accessibility ramp at this place?_ I angrily scream inside my head.

We finally make it up to his apartment. Ethan begins the slow trek to his bedroom alone, while Alan hands me a paper bag.

“I’m going to get Ethan settled. Could you prepare his medicine?”

“Of course.” They’re the first words I finally utter. 

Alan puts a hand on my shoulder. “He’s going to be alright, Zyra. He just took a spill on his bike.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I didn’t even know he rode a motorcycle.” 

He pats my shoulder and then follows behind his son. I’m left alone with nothing but the paper bag in my hand. I go to the kitchen and pull out the bottle. Ibuprofen. I look around trying to remember the cabinet where Ethan keeps his glasses. I can feel my panic start to set in. _Where are the damn cups?_ I open and close different cabinets erratically until I let out a deep sigh when I finally see his set of drinking glasses. I carefully take one out and carry it to the refrigerator to place it under the water dispenser. But my mind goes to the image of Ethan—my Ethan—looking battered and helpless. 

“Zyra?” Alan takes the glass from my hand and fills it with water from the dispenser. 

“I’m sorry, I—” I don’t know how long I was just standing there, lost deep in my fears about what has happened to Ethan. 

“There’s no need to apologize.” He hands me the glass and the bottle of ibuprofen. “Ethan’s finishing up a shower. Why don’t you go check on him? I’m going to go and grab some dinner.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Make sure he rests. I swear, he can be as restless as his mother.”

I try to smile at his words. I walk with him out of the kitchen.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” He says turning to me. “I’m going to pick up some Italian from this place Ethan likes. It should put him in a better mood.”

“I’d love to. Thank you.”

Once Alan leaves, I make my way to Ethan’s bedroom. I can feel my heart rate increase with every step that I take. The door is cracked open when I get there. I knock.

“Ethan, it’s me,” I say before entering. 

I see him standing in front of his dresser with a towel wrapped around his waist. His skin is covered in droplets of water, with some of them dripping down from his hair. He doesn’t turn around. He’s holding a pair of his boxer briefs in his left hand. He’s standing with most of his weight on his left side. 

I place the glass of water and his medicine on the nightstand and then move towards him. I frown at the sight of his right arm and leg. They’re all scratched up and spotted with bruises. I can even see a large purple bruise covering the entirety of his right shoulder. I bite my lip as I gently place my hand on top of the hand that’s gripping his underwear.

“Let me help you with that.”

“I’m fine. I can do this.” He sounds highly irritated. 

“Ethan…”

“I said I’m fine, Zyra.” He raises his voice at me, while peering over his shoulder in my direction. 

I bite my lip more and come around to face him. “Ethan, don’t do this. Don’t push me away. We promised we’d still be there for each other. Let me be here for you.” 

He closes his eyes, but when he opens them, he looks at me with an intense pain seeping from them. “I’m sorry. I just feel defeated because… I can’t dress myself.” His voice is so small and vulnerable that I just want to hold him in my arms and tell him that everything will be okay. 

I place a hand on his cheek. I can feel his jaw clench, but then he relaxes and leans into my touch. “Zyra, I…” His voice shakes slightly.

Our eyes cling to each other’s for a long moment. It feels as if we can reach into each other’s thoughts.

“I know. And I will.” I give him a soft, reassuring smile and nod. “I’m going to take off your towel now, okay?” I can see Ethan bite the inside of his lip. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Not with me. I’ve seen you naked before.”

“This is different.”

“I know.” I rub his arm tenderly before I turn to his towel and gently undo it. It drops from around his waist, and I place it on top of the dresser. I then let out a quiet gasp. If I thought the bruising on his shoulder was bad, his hip is even worse. It covers his entire hip and half of his right butt cheek. It snakes up towards his waist and down towards his mid-thigh. “ _Oh_ , _Ethan_ ,” I utter in a strained whisper, while gently tracing the outline of the bruise with my fingers, examining it. I feel Ethan slightly tremble under my touch. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m lucky nothing’s broken, honestly.”

“Well, besides your arm.” I gesture towards his cast with my chin.

“It’s a clean break of the radius and ulna. It should heal fine.”

I have to will myself to look away, or else I will begin to succumb to the feelings that lead me to the darkness places in my mind. I can’t do that right now. I need to be strong for Ethan. 

“Let’s get you dressed, okay? Where are your sweatpants?”

“Bottom drawer.”

I kneel down and pull out the drawer. Inside are a handful of sweatpants and t-shirts. “Which one?”

“I don’t care.” He sighs discontentedly. 

I pull out the one at the top and place it on the dresser. “Grey it is then.” I take his underwear and kneel down in front of him to help him put them on. He hesitates at first, his eyes nervously staring down at the floor. “It’s okay. You can do this. It’s just me.”

Ethan has to do a balancing act while leaning against the dresser. He groans in pain, especially when putting his full weight on his right side. But I eventually get his boxer briefs up and over his hips. 

“Um, I’ll let you adjust _that_.” Ethan slightly smirks before I look away with heat radiating across my cheeks. I pick up his sweatpants and we do the same stumbling dance routine until he has them fully on. This one takes longer because the legs of his sweatpants are so long. “Shirt?”

“Don’t need one.” 

“How about your sling?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay, well, let me dry your hair. Can you lower your head for me?” I take the towel and begin rubbing it across his head. I then run my fingers through his hair, trying to tame his rebel strands. 

He slowly lifts his head, his eyes clinging to mine as if I’m his lifeline to this world. I cast my gaze away to settle it on the stitches along his cheekbone. It’s still inflamed around the wound. I tentatively caress a finger underneath it. “Does it hurt?”

“I don’t even remember having it.” There’s no humor in his tone.

“Well, it’s definitely going to leave a scar. It’ll probably go well with your new tough, rugged look.” I smile as I say it. Ethan grins back briefly, with no trace of his former vulnerability. 

“I’m going to go hang this up in the bathroom.” 

I hang the towel over the shower door. But I see a few things lying on the floor of the shower—a shampoo bottle and a bar of soap. _Oh, Ethan._ I pick them up and put them on the corner shower shelf. In the trash can, I see the bag of clothes from earlier. It’s the same type of bag we give patients to put their stuff in when we discharge them. There are parts of the clothing that look stained with dirt, asphalt, and—I clasp a hand over my mouth— _blood_. But I also see green leather peeking from underneath. I open the bag and pull out the jacket. Both sleeves have been cut from collar to cuff. It’s the jacket that’s been with him throughout so much in his life. I can’t imagine how he must be feeling knowing he had to toss it. I begin to picture Ethan unconscious on an ER gurney, as the doctors work to cut him out of his clothes. A hot tear rolls down my cheek, and I do the one thing I can’t do for Ethan right now. I hug the jacket against myself. 

After returning the jacket back to the trash can, I also pick up his clothes that have been discarded on the floor and place them into the hamper in his closet. 

When I come out, Ethan is standing in front of his window, looking out across the river. 

“Let’s get you lying down.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been lying down for almost three days.”

“Ethan, your dad says you need to rest. And I agree.”

He continues standing quietly for a few more minutes, and then slowly turns around and limps to his bed. I begin to pull back the covers, but he stops me. I hold onto his left arm to slowly guide him onto the bed. Before he leans back, I fluff up some pillows. He lets out a soft sigh when he’s finally settled. 

I rub his thigh and give him a warm smile. “I bet that feels really good.” I then hand him his medicine and the glass of water. “400 mg of ibuprofen for you.” 

When he’s finished, he relaxes against the pillows and just captures and holds me with his blue eyes. He then hisses a bit as he adjusts against the bed. I can see that his hip is bothering him. 

“I can massage it for you. Do you think it could help?” I sit on the edge of the bed next to him and place a hand on his right hip. 

“If you think it will.” He softly smiles through the pain. 

I pull his sweatpants down a bit below his waist, giving me access to his hip. I then begin to gently knead it with my hands. Ethan’s hissing grows louder and strained. 

“Are you okay?” My hands pause against his skin.

“Yes. It feels good, actually.”

I continue massaging, working along the bruised tissue. “What happened? Your dad said you took a spill on your bike.”

“Yes. There was a car making an illegal turn in the intersection right when I was crossing it. I managed to dodge it, but I swerved too much to the right and I fell. I skidded along the road.”

“No wonder your entire right side is banged up. God, Ethan, I can’t even imagine if…” I bite my lip and press a bit too hard into Ethan’s hip. Based on his loud groan, I know I have, and I raise my hands. “Sorry.” 

“Zyra, I’m fine. It could have been a lot worse. Thankfully, it wasn’t.” 

I sit there quietly and continue to massage him as gently as possible. 

“I tried texting you.” I glance up at him, my hands still working against his delicate skin.

“I know.” He lets out a languished sigh. 

My movement abruptly stops. “You did? Why didn’t you respond?”

He turns his gaze to the window. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“And you don’t think I’m not worried now?” 

His gaze flicks back to me. “Zyra, please, it’s better that you knew after the fact.”

I stand up in one quick motion, my mood veering sharply to anger. “After the fact? This is so typical of you. How can I learn to trust you again if you push me away? If you don’t even try to let me in?”

“We’re not together. We’re not in a relationship. We’re not even dating. I’m under no obligation to tell you.” His voice is tense and firm to compete against my own. 

I stand there stunned by his words. I wrap my arms around myself, and lower my head towards the ground. “You’re right. We’re not,” I say in a barely audible, sad voice. 

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I wanted you there, believe me. But you already have enough on your plate. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“But what if something serious had happened to you? What if I never—never saw you again?” I place a hand over my mouth, surprised by the terrifying words I just heard myself say. 

“Zyra…” His own hurt and longing lay naked in his eyes. “The worst thing was my concussion. It’s the reason why they kept me in the hospital for a few days.”

I sit back down next to him. My jaw trembles when I speak. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so angry. You’ve been through a lot and I was just so scared. I’d woken up Monday morning with this awful feeling that something bad had happened, and then…” I can feel my throat and eyes begin to burn. “And then… you weren’t at work.” He takes my hand in his. I feel the combination of the hard fiberglass of his cast and the warm skin of his fingers that curl around my hand. “And then I see you like this.”

Something disturbing replaces his worried look. Like me, he’s questioning the coincidence of the situation. But deep down in my gut, I know it wasn’t. That feeling was more than just a coincidence. If nothing, it tells me that there’s something more between us than we care to admit. 

“Where were you anyway? Which hospital?” I ask him. With the way he’s looking at me, I already know the answer. “You were right under my nose the entire time?”

He nods almost apologetically. “Naveen made sure my admission was a secret. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

My brows pull together into a frown. “I’m not just anyone, Ethan.”

“No.” He sighs. “No, you’re not.” 

I slowly slide my hand out from his grip, dropping my face into my hands. “How didn’t I know you were there? I should have known.” _But my body was trying to tell me and I ignored it._ “I’ve been so oblivious to everything. How can I help others if I can’t even notice what’s going on around me? When I can’t even notice anything outside of my own pain?” I then begin speaking as if I’m talking to myself. “ _I couldn’t help you. I can’t help Edenbrook. I can't help my family. I couldn’t help Papa._ ”

“Your dad?”

I drop my hands as they fall limp over my knees. I keep my head down, feeling a sudden swell of shame and guilt. “I never told you, or anyone really, but I could have saved him. I know it.”

“What do you mean?” Ethan’s tone is laced in confusion.

“I should have noticed something. A detail in a story about his day. A change in the way he spoke. A change in his behavior when we video chatted. Something. Anything. I’m supposed to be a diagnostician. If we can read strangers in a coffee shop, how couldn’t I have read my papa? I could have saved him. I could have…”

“Zyra, you can’t think like that.”

I raise my head and feel the despair cloud my vision. “You did with Naveen.”

“That was different. I knew he was sick. You didn’t know your dad was. Sometimes people die unexpectedly and there’s nothing anyone could have done. Those types of deaths are just out of our control.”

“I feel like I’ve lost control over everything and I just don’t know how to get it back. How to get my life back.”

“I understand. I felt like that last year with Dolores and Naveen. But Zyra, you have the habit of trying to shoulder everything for everyone. Not everything is your responsibility. You also don’t need to always be out in the frontlines fighting. Sometimes you just need to take time to look after yourself, and that’s okay.” His hand finds mine again. “I used to believe that I needed to control everything in my life. But then I realized I couldn’t. To focus on what I can control and to let go of what’s not in my power, I tell myself ‘Control what you can control.’ It’s a difficult lesson to learn, especially as a doctor, but it’s an important one.” 

“Yeah.” I swallow hard and bite back tears. “‘Control what we can.’ I remember.”

He squeezes my hand as best as he can. “Your dad’s death wasn’t your fault. No one could have controlled what happened.”

“I just don’t want to lose anyone else that I love. _I can’t_.” I can feel my pain chipping away at me from the inside, and coming out through a soft, steady stream of tears. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Ethan sits up and pulls me into him, ignoring any of the physical pain the movement may cause him. His arms are warm and strong. It’s the same feeling as the day in the stairwell, and there’s nowhere else in the world I would rather be. He presses his cheek against mine and holds me so close that I just want to fully let myself go and give in to him.

I continue weeping, my tears staining his cheek along with my own and dampening his beard.

“I’m here, Zyra. I’m going to be alright.” He kisses the shell of my ear. “ _And I love you, too, so damn much_ ,” he whispers softly into my ear. 

His confession ceases the cries deep in my chest. I lay still in his arms, catching my breath as my sobs begin to calm and my brain tries to process what I just heard. I blink back the tears lingering along the edges of my eyes. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt, and lean back to see him completely. The fogginess in my sight dissipates, revealing to me a softness in Ethan’s smile and eyes that I’ve never seen before.

I search his face, as his words repeat in my head. I reach up and touch my fingers against his temple. “How hard were you concussed?” I ask, sniffling. 

He nearly coughs out a chuckle, surprised by my question. He winces at some obvious pain, and I help him lie back down. His expression retains this unfamiliar softness, but then I realize why it’s unfamiliar. _Is it because he loves me?_ They’ve been words only left to my deepest imagination and dreams. But can it be true? Does he feel the same way as I do?

He pats the space next to him on his left side. “Come here.”

My cheeks flush warm, and it’s not a residual effect of my crying. I carefully crawl over him and fall into his open arm, which wraps around me and keeps me nestled against his side. I look up at him. He looks down at me. We consider each other for a moment, the tips of our noses nearly touching. I can feel the movement of his breathing against me. His closeness is like a drug, lulling me to a state of euphoria. 

“I thought you didn’t believe in love,” I finally say.

His smile widens across his face, but his features remain the softest they’ve ever been. “I can admit when I’m wrong. It’s difficult to disprove love when the evidence is right in front of me.”

I begin to feel my pulse skitter alarmingly. 

“ _Ethan_ …” The whisper of his name reaches the short distance to his lips. “I’ve always loved you.” 

“I know.” 

I feel his lips press against mine, and then gently cover my mouth. He kisses me slow and thoughtful, as I bask in its velvet warmth and quiver at its tenderness. I breathe lightly when our lips finally part. Rising from my mouth, he gazes into my eyes. 

“That was… different.” I feel almost intoxicated.

“It was. But a good different.” 

He slowly rolls onto his left side, with a few grunts along the way. 

Our faces, our eyes are now aligned. I move in closer, closing my eyes while affectionately nuzzling my nose against his. I feel myself smile, nearly eager to laugh, in relief at the love shared between us in this very moment. But my smile begins to slip, and I shift my head back to peer into his endearing gaze. 

“Ethan, can love ever be enough?”

Concern begins to mar his features. “Trust is a big part of it.”

My fingers begin to fidget against his. “I’m still working on that. I can still hear this voice in the back of my mind telling me ‘Don’t get too close because he’ll only hurt you.’”

“And that’s my fault,” he says sadly. He stills my fidgeting by drawing my hand to his chest. I can feel his heart rapping against it. 

I take in a deep breath. “So what do we do now?” 

“What do you want?” His voice is warm and sincere. 

“I know that I want to feel more in control of my life again.”

He rests his forehead against mine and sighs deeply. “So do I. I can’t even take care of myself properly.”

“Maybe that’s something we can work on together.” 

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t want you to do something you’re not ready for just because you’re afraid of losing me. I’m not going anywhere, and my feelings for you will not change. I’ll be whatever you need me to be until you can fully trust me again.”

“I do want to be with you… someday. Let’s just take baby steps, like snail-rate baby steps.”

“I think I can agree to those terms.” The way he searches my expression turns more serious and purposeful. “And I want to get to know you, as you really are.”

“I’ve always been an open book. You just haven’t taken the time to turn many of the pages.” 

He chuckles softly. “Again. My fault.” His eyes lock me to him. “And I know it can be difficult for me to open up to people, but I want to work on being more open with you.”

“I’d like that. I want to be someone you can confide in about anything.”

“You already are.” For a moment longer, we smile at each other.

“So um, another thing.” I snuggle up close, taking care of his right side. “Are hugs on the table?”

“I can’t think of an argument against it.” He rests his hand on my hip and holds me against him. I can feel his cast gently press into my skin.

“Well, then, how about…” I caress my lips against his. I feel him smile against my lips as he steals a kiss. 

“Who needs pain medication when I can have your kisses?” He showers more kisses around my lips and along my jaw. His beard tickles the path along my skin, which makes me cry out in laughter and push against him. 

“ _Dammit_ , _Zyra_ ,” he mutters between his teeth, while rolling onto his back and laughing through his pain. 

“Oh, Ethan, I’m so sorry.” I sit up and can’t help but join in on his infectious laughter. “It looks like someone needs 200 mg of kisses, stat.”

“A second opinion might recommend 400 mg.” He gently pulls me back to him to receive his recommended dose.

* * *

“What inspired you to take on this mission?” asks Chris Arons, the host of the A.N.B. Nightly News Hour. 

Gwenyth Monroe sits confidently poised in her seat across from Chris. 

“I had a health scare, and if it wasn’t for the professional and caring diagnostics team at Edenbrook, I don’t know where I would be right now. My experience opened my eyes to a world larger than myself. It’s a world where so many people need medical assistance, and if it weren’t for the community and social services that the government subsidizes, so many people wouldn’t be able to get the help they need. But many people still don’t. That’s why I started a crowdfund and brought to light certain charities related to the cause, like Hope Springs at Edenbrook and Children’s Stars at Mount Mercy. That’s why it was important to do everything I could to save these hospitals, for people who have no other place to go. And I’m still working on the cause.”

“That is quite a task to take on.”

“I didn’t do it alone. I reached out to medical experts, other activists, even legislators. Without the combined effort, I don’t think we would have accomplished as much as we did.”

“It is impressive how much your crowdfund raised to assist many of these non-profit hospitals throughout the state. Those who have shared experiences with you even contributed, or even matched the contributions.”

“That’s right. Many of us have the money to help, and I think that influence was a big part in getting others on board. It’s amazing what social media can do for causes.”

“So, do you think you had a large part in the state legislature passing a revised bill that no longer cuts the budget from these non-profits?”

“Well, I believe protesting definitely forced their hands. I also think the whistleblower who came forward with the information wouldn’t have it if we weren’t so actively engaging on the issue on social media and in the communities.”

“The whistleblower directly contacted you, correct?”

“Me and my team, yes.”

“And what did you do when you were faced with this scandalous information?”

“My former self would have immediately published it for all my followers to see, but credibility is important when fighting for causes. The whistleblower and my team took the information to the Boston Globe. The reporters did a thorough and impeccable investigation, and the rest is history.”

“With the Governor’s resignation and the new budget, I think we can say you have quite a future in politics. I wouldn’t be surprised if you ran for Congress one day.”

Gwenyth giggles. “I wouldn’t rule that out, Chris.”

“There’s one last question. What was the moment you realized that activism was your calling?”

“That’s easy. Dr. Ethan Ramsey at Edenbrook sat with me almost every day while I was there, and he really showed me that I mattered, regardless of my income or gender or profession. He made me feel like I wasn't alone. That team is important. That hospital is important. Doctors like Dr. Ramsey are important. And we need to make sure doctors, hospitals, and community services not only stay available but expand throughout each community. And might I add, we also need universal health care.”

The interview has left me with a sense of pride in Ethan and Gwenyth. One simple act of kindness changed so many lives for the better. Ethan always tells me that if I had listened to him and not reached out to Gwenyth, the situation would have turned out differently, which he predicted not for the better. 

_You don’t always have to fight on the frontlines._

I take my earbuds out and am met with the sounds of Derry Roaster’s on a weekday afternoon. Coffee machines brewing. Registers opening and closing. People chattering. Keyboards being used. Pages of books being turned. Phones pinging. Names being called for orders.

I turn back to my computer and continue typing away, my fingers work quickly against the keys as my thoughts flow easily and freely. 

_I got this_.

“You’re stealing my spot, I see.” 

I look up from the screen and meet the man I love, whose smile continues to warm my heart. 

“I thought it was _our_ spot.” 

He softly chuckles and takes the seat across from me. His movement has gotten better, but there’s still a slight limp in his step and his shoulder stiffens at times. He places a sesame bagel and a cup of coffee in front of him. I reach over, snatch half of the bagel, and take a big bite.

“Thanks,” I say while chewing.

“You’re stealing my food now, too?” He eyes me suspiciously. 

“I thought you were sharing.” 

“You need to stop being so cute,” he says nearly laughing. “What are you working on?”

“My application for Chief Resident. Can you look it over for me and give me some Dr. Ramsey feedback?”

Without a word, Ethan pulls out his glasses. I turn my computer around and watch him as his eyes move across the screen, his expression serious and focused. He taps a finger against his cast, a new little tick he’s picked up whenever he’s deep in thought. 

Lately, things feel a bit brighter when I’m around him because we’re working on our healing together. As I stare fondly at him now, it’s like I can almost see a speck of light at the end of this dark tunnel I’ve been fumbling through. But instead of fumbling directionless in the dark, I’m beginning to regain my balance and take steps down a path where I can once again rejoin the light.


	20. Ethan's Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan is forced to face his regrets if he is to make gains in his relationships. But some relationships may be slipping away.

Over the years, I’ve learned that once I begin to make positive gains in my life, there’s always something lurking around the corner readying to tear it all down. In my case, the thing that lurks is myself. 

After mom left, I went into full defense mode. Establishing rules to help me control my own situations and the world because rules make sense. Putting up walls to keep others out in order to protect myself from being hurt again. Running away when things get hard and when I don’t have an answer. Obsessing over work to escape the lonely reality of my life. Refusing to believe that I could possibly matter to someone.

But all of these have only left me with regrets. 

Now my regrets have caught up to me, and all of the happiness I worked hard to achieve has been snuffed out. I didn’t have as much time as I believed.

* * *

**CALL**

I place my pager on top of an open case file. I stand up from the conference table and make my way to my mini fridge, pull out a glass tupperware with a dish I made for the week, and set it in the microwave to reheat. Ever since becoming an attending and having my own office, I prefer having my own necessities—a coffee machine, a mini fridge, and a microwave. It gives me an excuse to not go to the cafeteria or breakroom, where I would have a high risk of unnecessary socialization with colleagues. That only leads to being confined to a one-sided conversation about something trivial and mindless. I’m not one to even remotely divulge information about my private life, and that is something that leaves my colleagues in a state of disapproval or contempt. And I don’t care. 

Though it appears that my tolerance is being tested today. My microwave has stopped working. The light inside doesn’t turn on when the door is open. I inspect it, noting that it is indeed plugged in. I press the necessary buttons on the panel, but no amount of finger engineering gets the device to do what it’s supposed to do.

I close my eyes, while pinching the bridge of my nose. I can either eat the food cold or risk using the microwave in the breakroom. I momentarily weigh the pros and cons of each option, with neither one being particularly appealing. 

_Oh, fuck it._

I grab my dish and head out towards the breakroom. There’s no way I will ruin a perfectly good, handmade pasta by eating it cold. 

The breakroom is empty. I can immediately feel the tension in my chest weaken. I haven’t been in one of these breakrooms since the renovations began last year. The first thing I see when I enter is a foosball table. When did Edenbrook become an amusement park? I try to ignore the disgruntled feeling, which is a lingering groan itching the back of my throat. 

Once I find the microwave—and it’s in working order—I lean back against the edge of the counter, my arms folded across my chest, and wait. My mind begins to process the information from the new patient case file. I draw mental lines to make connections between symptoms, patient history, and possible diseases. I feel my eyes moving along as they follow the visual jigsaw in my head, piece-by-piece. Unfortunately, my solitary waiting and thought process are disrupted when a nurse walks in. 

Her face looks weary, nearly exhausted, but when her eyes settle on me, her face immediately lights up. It’s as if she’s been refreshed. Now I’m reminded of the reasons for why I do not frequent the breakroom. Nurse Sarah Houston is one of them. She is one of the most competent nurses at Edenbrook, and our working interactions have always remained professional. 

However, we are not working on a case at the moment. 

I don’t listen to or care for hospital gossip, but I am aware when someone is attracted to me. Nurse Houston has never been subtle about it. I can already predict how this interaction will go. Invasion of my personal space. Overly amused by anything I say that coincides with an annoyingly forced laugh. Small talk about personal matters. A lustful gaze that sweeps across my body. Invasive questions. Indirect ways of trying to ask me out. 

She smiles widely and approaches the refrigerator to my right. “Good afternoon, Dr. Ramsey.” 

“Nurse Houston,” I acknowledge, while maintaining our required professionalism. I glance at the remaining time on the microwave. _Two minutes and 23 seconds._

Her gaze quickly sweeps up and down my body and stops on my face. “You should wear your glasses more often.” A glint of desire flashes in her eyes. She stands a bit too close after pulling something out from the refrigerator. “What’s for lunch?” She lifts her chin and sniffs the aroma coming from my dish in the microwave, her nostrils spasming like a rabbit. “Whatever it is, it smells really good.”

“Leftovers.” _One minute and 46 seconds._

“Oh, well, I’m just having the usual peanut butter and jelly.” She giggles and touches my arm. She relinquishes her touch before I have the opportunity to pull away.

“So, got any plans this weekend?” She takes a seat at the table in front of me and begins picking at the crust on her sandwich. “I might check out this new speakeasy down by the Museum of Fine Arts. I had a patient who said it was all the rave. It’s supposed to have the finest selection of whiskey in the city.”

“So I’ve heard.” _53 seconds._

“ _Of course you have_ ,” she mutters. Her face noticeably drops. “Well, I’ll tell you how it is. I know you’re quite the whiskey connoisseur.” 

That lingering groan begins to hum. 

The nurse takes a bite of her sandwich when I don’t respond. It’s as if I can almost hear myself think again. _36 seconds._

“I had this patient today,” she begins while chewing. “He was such an ass. He wouldn’t listen to anything we asked him to do.”

“Even the assholes deserve care.” 

I catch her eyes locking onto mine, and she flashes me a sly grin. “Yes. Yes, _they_ do.”

I turn my back to her, my hand readying to open the microwave. _10 seconds._

“So I heard Dr. Emery and Dr. Fitzgerald have become a thing. Who would have thought?”

The microwave buzzes, but my hand stills at the door. I clench my jaw, remove my glasses, and turn around to face her. My eyes slightly narrow. My voice is tense. “If you think I’m going to entertain gossip about a colleague I highly respect, then you are sadly mistaken about me, Nurse Houston.”

“Oh, no, I—I that’s not what I meant—,” she stutters, her face visibly stricken with shame. 

I grab my lunch and finally leave her failed antics behind me. I feel my throat vibrate as I finally release that groan buried in the back of it.

* * *

I return to the office, but my shoulders slightly sag when I notice that it’s empty. I had paged Zyra before my regretful trip to the breakroom. I wanted to go over the case with her before her clinic rounds. Baz and June are currently preoccupied with other matters—June with a psychiatric patient and Baz with his immunology research. I’ll meet with them in an hour. 

I set my dish down on the conference table next to my laptop. While I wait for Zyra to arrive, I decide to catch up on some emails since I’ve already memorized everything in the case file. As I scroll, I stop on one from a name from the past, Maeve MacKenna. It was sent an hour ago. My finger twitches against the trackpad.

Maeve was the woman Tobias and I both fell for in med school. I’ve always been attracted to a woman’s intelligence, and she was the most intelligent woman in my Johns Hopkins cohort. She also handled criticisms and mistakes with an unwavering modesty and confidence. I lift my chin, my gaze turning towards the ceiling, as I recall her exquisite beauty. Her hair was like fire, her long waves like rippling flames. Her eyes sparkled like the finest emeralds. 

Unfortunately for Tobias and me, she was already seeing someone at the time. Right away, I gave up my efforts to pursue her, but that didn’t sway Tobias. He felt he was capable enough of making her leave her boyfriend for him. He was confident in beating me, but he failed. I think that failure made his competitiveness for me grow even more. 

I haven’t seen or heard from her since graduating from med school. She had stayed at Johns Hopkins for her residency, but I never knew what had become of her—until now. Based on her title in the email, she is the Director of Specialist Programs at the University Hospital Duesseldorf in Duesseldorf, Germany. It’s one of the most prestigious hospitals not only in Germany, but in all of Europe. 

The subject line reads: _Inquiry: Diagnostics Specialty Program at University Hospital Duesseldorf_. 

As I skim through the email, it becomes immediately clear that it is a job offer. It’s not uncommon for me to receive offers from other institutions and hospitals, but this one is different. 

_Dr. Ethan Ramsey,_

_It is with pleasure and high regard to be emailing you. I am Maeve MacKenna, the Director of Specialty Programs at the University Hospital Duesseldorf. My position oversees programs that focus on medical specialties and breakthrough research. For example, our hospital is one of the top in Europe that specializes in stem cell transplantation. I have kept up with your research and accomplishments over the years, and I am quite impressed with your work with Dr. Naveen Banerji on the Diagnostics Program at Edenbrook. Your work there has inspired many of my colleagues and this administration into implementing a similar program, but one that also focuses on research in regards to rare medical mysteries. As you know, in Europe, we do not have any program similar to the one established at Edenbrook. We are looking to remedy that situation here in Duesseldorf with the goal of our hospital becoming the primary location in Europe for research in diagnostics, diagnosing hard-to-solve cases, and being the leaders in providing diagnostic support to doctors at Dusseldorf and throughout the continent._

_Attached is a proposal for the program and a list of renown diagnosticians from across the world. I am currently in the process of researching the framework of this program, and I would like to offer you the position of the director. As director, we would work together in finalizing the program goals, mission, and team. I would be open to speaking with you in more detail and how this framework would work for our patients here._

The description sounds like a prestigious opportunity—for someone else. I’m still reluctant about my role here and trying not to destroy all of Naveen’s hard work. I also can’t leave Boston for specific reasons. Zyra’s face flashes in my mind. 

I begin to type out a response, turning down the offer. While in the process of typing names of a few diagnosticians I believe would better serve this role, Zyra enters. I look up and peer over the rims of my glasses to see her wide, warm smile greeting me. I feel my entire body relax. My expression softens the moment I’m met with her presence. She’s one of the few whose presence I welcome, probably even the most welcomed. 

“Hi, Dr. Ramsey.”

The sound of her sweet voice makes my heart thud against my chest. “Lewis, I hope you don’t mind if I have a working lunch.” I point to my food.

“No, not at all. It’s not like you to take breaks much anyway,” she says matter-of-factly. Her usual teasing tone is absent. I see her hesitate about taking the seat next to me. She decides to come around the table and sit across from me instead. She extends her neck forward to peek into my tupperware. “What is that? It smells appetizing.”

“Brown butter shrimp and lobster ravioli.” 

“That sounds fancy. Definitely fits you to a T.” She flashes me her warm, infectious smile.

I slide the dish with my fork towards her. “Try a bite. I’d love to get your feedback.”

“Feedback? Why?” She continues smiling, pulling the dish towards her and picking up the fork.

“I made it.”

She freezes for a second and then her surprised gaze darts to me. “Really?”

I chuckle softly in response. “Yes. I made it by hand. I tend to find cooking a relaxing process.”

“You even made the actual ravioli?”

“Of course.” I crack a grin.

Her teeth now peek out from behind her lips as her smile grows. “I had no idea you were also an amateur chef.”

I shake my head, amused by the description. “I wouldn’t call myself that. It’s merely more of a hobby.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that.” She delicately collects a ravioli with the fork and brings it to her mouth. She closes her eyes as she takes a bite, chewing slowly. I observe the intricate muscles in her jaw and cheek at work. Then her tongue darts out to lick her lips. My breath hitches in my chest at how beautiful she is even when eating. A hand covers her mouth as her eyes fly open, wide. “Dr. Ramsey… this is the most delicious ravioli I’ve ever tasted.”

“Are you saying that in jest?” I raise an eyebrow, but a smirk forms on my lips.

“No, not at all. You know I’d never lie to you.” 

_No. No, you wouldn’t._

“Well, in that case, have as much as you want. I’ve made an entire batch for the week.” 

“Well, if you insist. I can never say no to free food.” She steals another bite, her smile never ceasing.

We haven’t been this easy around each other since that stint with the high five. I’d nearly succumbed to my feelings for her, as the touch of her hand flooded me with a calming warmth, which brought forth feelings of happiness I’ve long forgotten. After that day, we’ve both remained consistent with our professional boundaries because we agreed to focus solely on our professional relationship. The way we’ve been acting towards each other has proven the window of opportunity for us has fully closed. 

_You’re my boss and my mentor. I’m your resident. We’re colleagues. That should be enough for now._

_Yes, for now_ …

If I had known she would have taken to my cooking so readily, I would have brought her some every day. I would have taken her home with me so I could cook for her. I would have asked her to cook with me. All of these _would have_ s are irrelevant now. It’s just a further reminder of how I had failed Zyra. But it’s also a reminder of how I am determined to not give up on her. I can’t. I’ve made too many mistakes between us in the past that I need to make right. If I can, perhaps another window of opportunity will open and I can prove to her how important she truly is to me.

_I can’t lose her again._

“So, there’s something I need to discuss with you before we approach the case.” She places the fork back in the tupperware and slides it back towards me. “I just finished meeting with Chief Banerji.”

I relax back in my seat, crossing one leg over the other. 

“So Naveen must have told you about the Chief Resident position.” 

“He did.”

“I’m sure he’s encouraged you to apply.” I take off my glasses to meet my gaze with hers more pointedly. “And so do I. In fact, you should have Mirani write you a letter of recommendation. I would even encourage you to have your intern write a statement as well. With the merger, you’ll have more competition from Mass Kenmore residents, so a strong application is imperative.”

“I see.” Her voice is quiet and distant, as if she’s responding to something else. But her eyes waver from mine and fix on something far beyond me. A glazed look of despair begins to spread across her face. It’s reminiscent of the same look she had at certain times when we were working on the Carrera case. 

When she had returned to work, I was afraid of leaving her alone or losing track of her. It was also difficult to focus on work because I was terrified of something worse happening to her and not being able to stop it. I was still haunted by the fact that I didn’t act fast enough to help her, which had landed her in the hospital. I didn’t want to make that mistake again, so I silently watched her, secretly looked after her. 

She would sometimes disappear, and I would inwardly panic, not knowing where she was. One day I had followed her. She had hidden herself away in this small crook of the hallway that led to the fire exit. I would later find out that that had become her usual hiding place when she couldn’t control her emotions in front of us.

When I found her, she was leaning back against the wall, her face buried deep into her palms. 

“Zyra?” I softly spoke.

A flash of worry stabbed at me. I was desperate to do something, hold her, even if it was just her hand. I clenched my hand into a fist, recalling the sensation of hers in mine that day on her mother’s porch. How did I go from that to this? That answer was obvious.

At that moment, the fact that I couldn’t sweep her up into my arms to comfort her and protect her made my entire being feel as it if it were tilting off its axis. My very foundation was being ripped out from under me. Her pain was palpable and vicious, and I could feel it reverberate deep within my bones, with nothing but helplessness lingering deep in my core.

Swallowing her sobs, she looked up at me and began wiping at her eyes. “Dr. Ramsey, I’m sorry. I—I just needed a minute.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Her head was bowed, her body slumped against the wall in despair.

“Do you need more time off?” I asked gently, trying to keep my tone controlled.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. It’s just that…” She trailed off, her gaze boring into the floor.

I took a step closer. “Just what? You can tell me.”

“It’s silly. It’s just that seeing them in there, it just brings back the pain of my own losses.” Her mouth slightly parted, as if she were about to say something else. But then she bit her lip instead, forever silencing whatever thought in her mind.

“I wouldn’t define that as silly. That’s a natural response with everything you’re going through. But if it’s getting in the way of your work, I can take you off this case.” 

I’d wanted to tell her that seeing Mr. Carrera and Ms. Dorian brought up my own painful memories. The utter sorrow of seeing Zyra so broken in that hospital bed. The regret that I couldn’t have stayed by her side like Ms. Dorian had for Mr. Carrera. The fear of knowing something worse could have happened to her. And the despair of her cutting me out of her life. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. The conversation wasn’t about me and my feelings, and I didn’t want to make things even more difficult for her. 

She finally raised her head and stared at me with her eyes turning slightly brighter. “No. I’ll be fine. I promise.” She wiped at her eyes one last time and then weakly smiled. “Come on. A lot of people need us right now. We can’t let them down.” 

Every time I witness that look, I am filled with an anguish that almost overcomes my control. That anguish turns into my utmost fear of losing her. Even now, her expression is grim as I watch her.

“Lewis, is everything alright?”

“I can’t apply for the position, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Why not? If you feel it’ll be too much along with your fellowship duties, then I can assure you—”

“It’s not that.” She bites her lip, practically gnawing on it. “I won’t be here.”

“What?” I uncross my legs and lean forward. “What do you mean you won’t be here?”

She draws in a deep, long breath before she speaks. “The Chief is helping me transfer to Denver General. It’s why I was late. I was speaking with him about it.” 

Stunned, I repeat what she says. “Transfer to Denver General?” The shock of the news hits me full force. “Colorado? You’re moving back to Colorado?” 

_No, Zyra. No…_ _I need more time. I need… you._

“You know how sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your career?” A humorless smile slowly appears on her lips.” Well, sometimes you have to make them for your family.”

“Is your family alright?” My tone is filled with worry.

She continues biting on her lip as she shakes her head. “Mama hasn’t been doing well. She’s been so depressed. She’s taken a leave from work. And Jacob…” She nearly chokes on her words. I have the urge to move to her side as she speaks. But I remain seated, my body instinctively leaning forward, closer to her. “Jacob’s become her primary caregiver. I have family friends who check on them from time to time.”

“Like Laura?”

“Yes.” There’s a flicker of shock in her eyes, as if she’s surprised that I remembered. “She and Papa’s best friend, Uncle Richie. But Ethan, it’s not enough. All Jacob does is take care of Mama and go to school. He doesn’t draw anymore or play with his friends. He feels guilty if he even wants to play a video game or watch a movie.” 

I think back to that kind, loving boy who nicknamed me Captain America and how at times he would never leave my side. When I was there, I learned that I not only wanted to protect Zyra, but I wanted to protect her family too as if they were my own. And Jacob, he’s someone that I think about often because he was around my age when I also lost a parent. At times, I wish I could have done more for him during those few days I was there.

“ _Zyra…_ ” My mind doesn’t even try to engage professionally anymore. 

“Black boys already have to grow up too fast in this country.” Her voice begins to tremble. “I need to give my brother a chance to stay a kid for as long as possible.” 

“What about Elliot?”

“He and Mama… had a huge fallout after you left. They haven’t spoken since Papa’s funeral.”

I frown but she continues.

“Mama said some harsh things to Elliot… and David. She practically kicked them out of the house,” she says with a hint of anger. “She had no right to treat Elliot that way. _A mother shouldn’t treat her child that way._ ” She pauses and casts her gaze down, as if her mind is searching for something. “I’m not justifying what Mama did. At all. I just think she found him to be an easy target for all of her pain. I know she regrets it now. She’s always asking about him. ‘Have you heard from Elliot?’”

I continue listening.

“I think Mama feels she lost both Papa and Elliot that day. But I also think Elliot feels he lost both of his parents that day, too, including David.”

“David?”

“Yeah. David felt so guilty for what happened. I guess he couldn’t get past the guilt of it all and broke up with my brother.” She sighs heavily. “So it’s just me. I’m the only one who can be there for them right now. If this had happened two months ago or even a month ago, I don’t think I would have been able to do it. I was still trying to take care of myself.”

I nod in understanding.

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m so sorry that I’m leaving…” She trails off, her pained eyes searching mine. “…the team.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Zyra. Most people in your situation wouldn’t make such a sacrifice. Your compassion is one of the things I admire most about you.”

We sit there wordlessly, with my eyes never leaving hers for an instant. I can see the conflict and pain swimming in her darkened brown eyes as she stares back at me. But within it all, there’s a subtle glint of the certainty of her choice. 

“If you need me to put in a good word for you, I will,” I say sincerely.

“Thanks,” she replies, rising to her feet. “But I think having you listed as my mentor and completing a junior fellowship on your team will be enough.” My eyes follow her as she stops in front of the window and looks out. “I’m glad I was able to do some good before I left. At least people will still have a place to go, right?” She turns her head towards me and honors me with one of her smiles, albeit it’s understandably dimmer than usual. 

“Yes. But the good you do for patients won’t end here, Zyra. You’re gonna make a hell of a doctor no matter where you go.”

As I watch her standing there, her posture is a bit more straighter, but she’s pulling on the collar of her dress and back to gnawing on her lower lip. I don’t know how I’ve been able to maintain my composure while witnessing her distress. Perhaps it’s the shock that has kept me numb to what is truly lurking beneath. Perhaps it’s my own disappointment in knowing that any chance I had in righting my wrongs with her are no longer an option. I’m now supposed to watch her walk out of my life as another failed relationship in the history of Dr. Ethan Ramsey. But this time, I don’t know how I could ever come back from losing someone so special, someone who has shown me… _shown me_ … 

She takes a deep breath before she pulls herself away from the window. Instead of returning back to her original seat, she takes the empty one next to me. She helps herself to another bite of my ravioli and then offers me the fork. “I haven’t seen you eat yet.” 

Our fingers brush when I take the fork, but neither of us quickly recoil, allowing the touch to naturally happen.

“Looks like you’ll still be looking out for me until the very end,” I say, finally taking my first bite.

She doesn’t say a word, but merely smiles and turns to the case file. We discuss the patient as we share my meal, but there’s something unspoken that hangs in the air between us. And for me, it’s the realization that this is one of the last times I’ll ever be with her. I’m finally losing her for good. My very fear has come true.

* * *

I nearly slam the door behind me. 

“You knew about Zyra and you didn’t tell me?” I snap at Naveen, glaring at him furiously. My anger is so heated, I can almost hear the blood rushing through my head. 

The immediate shock in his expression disappears. He takes off his glasses, runs a hand across his face, and puts his glasses back on. When he looks at me, worry lines his forehead. He stands up from behind his desk and gestures towards his couch that’s facing the window. 

“She wanted to tell you herself,” he says as he sits down. 

I don’t bother joining him, but pace in frantic steps instead. “When did you know?”

“Ethan.”

“When, Naveen?”

He exhales a distressed sigh. “She told me yesterday. She’s already put in her two weeks.”

I can’t even look at him. This swell of pain is beyond anything I’ve ever felt. All I can feel is the knowledge of her leaving twisting and turning inside of me. This gnawing sensation is overwhelming to the extent that I can’t even feel when my fist meets the wall. 

“I can’t lose her. She’s too important to… to Edenbrook.”

“Ethan, you don’t have to hide your feelings from me anymore,” he states in a compassionate, yet sad manner.

Naveen’s statement doesn’t even surprise me. Him encouraging me to follow her to Colorado and keeping it a secret was his unspoken acknowledgement and support. I was always afraid of hearing it out loud because then I would have to acknowledge it to myself. But now it no longer matters. 

I run a hand down my face and collapse beside him on the couch. My shoulders slump forward as my elbows rest on my knees, my head bowed. All of my energy and strength have been stripped from me. 

“She was the most talented resident I’ve ever worked with,” I say, my voice resigned. All of my anger melts away and leaves me with nothing but my anguish. “I regret that I won’t be able to personally witness her growth into the doctor she’ll become.”

“I agree, considering how she bested both of us in diagnosing me.” Naveen’s smile lines subtly appear as he speaks. “I was looking forward to seeing how she would have shaken things up around here, like another person I know.” 

I begin to feel a tingling sensation radiating across my knuckles, which are red and beginning to swell. My physical pain has started to merge with my emotional pain.

“I suppose I’ll have to find a replacement, an attending this time.”

“Actually, I was planning on talking to you about that today.” His tone is foreboding.

I give him a side-glance and see that his expression matches his voice. 

“Ethan, this isn’t easy for me to say.” 

“Just say it.” I close my eyes and sigh disheartenedly. What could be worse?

“They’re cutting the diagnostics team when we merge.”

I snap my head in his direction. “What do you mean the team is getting cut? The entire proposal was designed around how the team connects and supports the hospital.”

“I hate to say this, but they played us.” He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Mass Kenmore has all the leverage in this merger. They’re the ones making all of the decisions. Who to keep on. Which departments to cut. How resources will be utilized.”

“How could you let this happen? You’re on the Board.”

“I’m only one person out of ten, Ethan. I did all that I could. Trust me, I’m just as mad as you are.” He doesn’t put his glasses back on. He holds them in a trembling hand. His face looks like he’s suddenly aged by a decade. “I’m also losing my position as Chief, but they offered me an attending position.”

“Some consolation.” I scoff, nearly growling. “Are you going to take it?”

“Probably. I’m not ready to retire yet. You should also hear from them on an offer soon.”

“And why would I want to work with a vindictive, back-stabbing hospital I no longer have any respect for or trust? They never put their patients first. I should have known something like this would happen. Dammit. I should have known they’d screw us over.” 

“Ethan, I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault. If I hadn’t agreed to that proposal…”

“No, you all did right by that proposal. Mass Kenmore is the one who used us in the end to get what they wanted.”

“And I just handed the team to them like some sacrificial lamb. I seem to keep failing you, Naveen. I was clearly never meant to run your team.”

“Ethan, why would you think that? What happened has nothing to do with your leadership or management. I chose you to lead the team for many reasons, but mostly because you deserved it. Baz isn’t the type to step into a director position. He’s more of a team player. And June complained of favoritism because I mentored you, but I always feared she’d find a way to jeopardize the team by not playing by the rules.”

“Hirata will do anything to get her way.”

“Yes. And I couldn’t take such a risk with the most important role on the team. I trusted _you_. I noticed how lost you appeared in your career. I had a feeling that you believed you plateaued, so I needed to continue pushing you, challenging you. I knew becoming the Director would give you that newfound path. And you succeeded far beyond my expectations.”

“You really believe that, Naveen?”

My mentor rests his hand atop mine.

“This team is more than just what’s between these walls, Ethan. It’s about the mission, and that mission will never end. I know wherever you go, you’ll take that mission with you, maintaining that legacy. Zyra and Baz, too. That’s what matters. That’s all that should matter.” He smiles at me with respect and pride. “And, my friend, you never failed me. The proudest moment of my career was mentoring you.”

Tears begin to sting my eyes, and I recall when he called me his family. 

I sat with Naveen for over an hour, discussing the issues of Zyra leaving, the team, and the merger—or more appropriately described as an _acquisition_. There was a weight lifted off my shoulders knowing that Naveen still believed in me, that I hadn’t failed him or let him down. If I had spoken to him earlier instead of fleeing to the Amazon or avoiding conversations like these with him, perhaps I would have felt more at ease about our relationship sooner. _Like Dad_. Naveen is just another person I know I need to stop running away from. I still matter to him. I still…

Although I feel my relationship with Naveen is on a better path, I’m still drowning in the double loss of Zyra and the team. My head is filled with regrets of my inactions and obvious mismanaged actions that led to losing the time I took for granted. What-if scenarios cloud my mind, making me nauseous as I drive. I don’t stop as I pass my building and continue on until I reach a parking lot outside of a boxing gym. Once in park, I fall forward, my forehead resting on the steering wheel, my hands gripping it in a death grip. I wait for the nausea to subside. 

The ring tone of my phone jolts me straight up into my seat. I grab it from the center console and see that it’s Dad. I clear my throat when I answer.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, Ethan. I was just checking to see if you were still coming this weekend. I have a bowling tournament on Saturday. It’d be great if you could come and cheer on your old man.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there.”

“Great! So, how’s your day?”

I pause as my mind has gone uncharacteristically blank. “Um, well.”

“Good to hear.” I can almost hear him smiling over the phone. 

When we had talked last, I was able to open up a bit more to him. In doing so, I realized I had been wrong about my dad all these years. We may have different interests, we may see the world differently, we may have different personalities, and we may have different opinions on the meaning of love and family, but he’s still my dad who has always been there for me, especially when it had become just the two of us. As I tried to find the best version of myself over the years, I tried to distance myself from my past. And that included my dad in some ways. When looking back at my childhood, he did the best he could, while he was simultaneously trying to mend his broken heart. In a lot of ways, I wasn’t fair to him and hurt him. I never truly acknowledged his role in how he shaped me into who I am today. He may not have challenged me in ways I wanted or truly understood me, but he always supported me and allowed me to feed my curious mind. He never once gave up on me, and I know he never would. Perhaps that is the one thing I should have learned from my dad: Never giving up on people. 

“Dad, I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For… never giving up on me.”

“Oh, son. Is everything okay?”

I shift the phone to my other ear and reach for the door handle. “Can we talk this weekend?”

“You can always talk to me. Any time.”

I’ve finally begun to believe that now. 

When I hang up, I make it out of my car and pull a gym bag from my trunk. I check in inside, hit the locker room to change, and find my sparring partner. He’s alone taking right and left jabs to a punching bag. Based on the sweat glistening across his forehead and arms, he must have been here for a while. 

“I’m surprised you’re late,” Tobias says with a cocky grin.

“I had a hold up at the hospital.” I begin to strap on my gloves. 

He removes his gloves and begins putting on the punching mitts. “I can wager what it was probably about. We got the news today as well. It looks like we both need to let off some steam today, huh?” He glances down at my hand, the one with the swollen knuckles. “Looks like you already got a head start.” 

I ignore him and finish strapping on my last glove, pulling the velcro strap with my teeth to tighten it against my wrist. 

He slips on the second mitt, raises his arms with the palms of the mitts facing towards me, and positions himself for the first punch.

I alternate with my usual jabs as a warm up. Tobias easily blocks each one.

“Oh, yeah. I can feel that anger in your punches today.” 

Each punch lands faster and harder, as my body and mind get into the zone. But the more I move, the more my anger and pain coil around my muscles. Jabs, crosses, and uppercuts make contact against the mitts, but it’s not the mitts I see. I jam my fists into the same face, over and over again. 

_This is all your fault. All._ Punch! _Your._ Punch! _Fucking!_ Punch! _Fault._

Tobias grunts loudly, and his body curls inward. He clutches his stomach and immediately falls to his knees. His mouth hangs open as if all the air has been knocked out of him.

“Dammit, Tobias. Are you okay?” 

“You aren’t, apparently,” he says as he hisses through the pain.

* * *

**WITHHOLD**

There’s been a shift in the atmosphere. My taste buds explode against the flavor of my usual choice of coffee, acting as if they’ve fully awakened for the first time. The sunlight coats my skin with a warmth that nearly feels rejuvenating. Colors pop in everything I see. Reds are richer. Blues are softer. Yellows are brighter. And those are only the primary colors. But the most shocking change is that I see how my rules have limited my experiences in the world, at least in my personal life. That’s what my near-death experience taught me.

_I had a second chance._

I wouldn’t have been able to understand how to navigate this new direction without Zyra. Her patience, kindness, compassion, and love helped me see the truth behind my pain and begin to take action towards repairing some of the damage in my life. Finally dealing with this existential crisis began the week I stayed home after the accident. But it was on one specific day that was the catalyst for how I would deal with the aftermath of the accident. 

I still hadn’t quite adjusted to being home. It’d been a few days since my release from the hospital, and I was as restless as ever. I took short walks around my apartment, did my recommended physical therapy exercises, and mostly tried to push myself so that I could return to work. Zyra had been there every day, and I felt she and Dad had formed some kind of partnership of ganging up on me. But it wasn’t just them. Naveen also insisted I take more time off, and that only infuriated me even more. I should have been back to work that week to prevent the team from dissolving into something unrecognizable when I returned. I needed to help others with their medical needs, not myself. I believed I was well enough to do my job, but my arguments didn’t sway anyone’s position. I hadn’t yet fully acknowledged the mental toll the accident had taken on me until Zyra came to see me that Friday. 

The sofa chair in the corner of my bedroom had become a welcomed change to the confines of my bed. I kept the bedroom lights off, all except for the soft light pouring in from the standing lamp beside me. In addition to the city lights seeping in through the wall-to-ceiling windows, that was all the illumination I needed. 

Although the cushioned comfort of the chair relaxed my stiff muscles and sores, the warmth flooding along my lower back was the better remedy. The accident had aggravated my lower back pain, so I routinely placed a heating pad against it. 

My legs were propped up on top of a large, matching ottoman, my body angled diagonally, the heels of my feet resting near the corner. It left room for my best friend, my chocolate labrador, Jenner. His front paws were draped over my ankles, his head resting on top. His round, black eyes stared out towards the window, while mine settled on a book I’d been trying to read for the past hour. I never made it past the first sentence of the second chapter. The text on the page had all but blurred into gray, hazy blobs, as my eyes drifted past the words and through the page, focusing on something unseen—the disquieting and angry thoughts harboring in the forefront of my mind. No amount of reading could distract me from them. 

Jenner’s head rose at the soft knock at my bedroom door. His movement made my own head turn towards the visitor. The door knob slowly turned and the door opened a crack, revealing the one person who could temporarily ease my pain. 

“Hey, stranger,” Zyra greeted through the opening before entering and closing the door behind her. She had obviously just come from work. She was wearing a blue, tailored dress under her coat. It was secretly one of my favorites. It delicately hugged her curves in all the right places, always taking my breath away whenever I saw her in it. That moment was no different. She removed her coat and placed it on my bed before heading in my direction, unaware of how strongly she made my heart flutter. My eyes drank in the sensuality of her physique. _Damn, she’s beautiful._

I shut my book and removed my glasses. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you today.” 

“Oh, were you expecting my company?” She gave me a wide, playful smile. 

“You know I try not to presume anything.” I returned her infectious smile.

As she moved closer, the light from outside enhanced the warmth in her eyes, making them appear like a radiant gold and soothing my inner demons. 

While she was approaching me, her steps slowed with an expression of surprise covering her face and then a slow smile spreading across her lips. Her gaze had turned from me to Jenner, who rose onto all fours and howled at her. The howl was more welcoming than protective. His tail wagged rapidly, his mouth open and cheeks pulled back into his charming, friendly smile. Zyra slowly raised her hand towards my lab. He stuck his snout against her palm, sniffing and licking it wildy. It made Zyra giggle like an amused schoolgirl.

“This must be Jenner,” she said, while sitting in the now open space on the ottomon facing me and affectionately petting along the fur of my lab’s neck. Jenner gave Zyra kisses on her cheek with his long, wide tongue, which only made her giggling intensify. “I’ve heard so much about you! Aren’t you a sweetheart.” Her voice changed as if she were speaking to a baby.

Jenner settled back down between us, but laid his head across her lap. They looked like a perfect match, with the way Zyra gently stroked the top of his head and the way he silently lay against her, receiving her touch. He’d taken to her faster than anyone else. As I watched her interact with my dog, I witnessed whatever pain she usually kept hidden in her eyes visibly fade. 

“It appears I have some competition.” I glared at Jenner, who was hypnotized by Zyra’s touch. “ _Traitor_.” 

Jenner’s ears perked up. 

“What can I say, it was love at first sight.” She fondly stared down at him. Jenner’s eyes began to close, lulled to sleep by the gentle caress across his head. 

Even though she’d said that in jest, I felt a jealous pang in my chest. The irrational feeling took me by surprise. _How could I be jealous of a dog?_ These bouts of irrational thoughts weren’t out of the ordinary when Zyra was involved. 

“It’s nice to finally meet him,” she said without looking at me. Her gaze remained affectionately on the traitor, making my irrational jealousy churn in my stomach.

“He currently stays with Dad. I realized I couldn’t give him the time and attention he needed. At least not right now.”

“I get that. Having a dog is like having a child.” Jenner nuzzled his snout against the bare portion of her thigh, making a comfortable spot for his head. “See?” She flashed me a smile. “When did you get him?”

I paused, addled by the pain the memory brought forth.

“I got him after… my breakup with Harper. I thought I could fill the loneliness it had left me with.”

I wasn’t expecting how easy the words had come out. It was the first time I had ever said the reason out loud or even admitted I had been lonely. I had promised to be more open with Zyra, but I suddenly felt guilty at my confession, believing it would upset her. 

I was wrong.

She lifted her gaze to me, her eyes burning with her genuine compassion. “And did it? Fill the loneliness?” 

“Yes, for a time. Then I couldn’t care for him in the way I wanted.”

“So you gave him to your dad?”

I simply nodded. “Just temporarily, but it just left me…”

“Feeling more lonely in the end?”

“Yes,” I responded matter-of-factly.

“And now?”

I gently smiled in response and reached for her hand, but it felt as if she were holding mine instead of the other way around. We looked at each other for a long moment. Her touch was not only soothing Jenner, but also my unsettled psyche. As we sat in the comfortable silence, I chided myself for being in denial for so long about my feelings for her. I had wasted too much time and almost missed out on… moments like these. Was this what love truly felt like? 

“How are you doing? Your dad says you’re having a bad day.” Her own smile turned into a worried frown.

I sighed. “What else did he tell you?”

Her eyebrows were drawn together tightly, with her frown lines etched more prominently between them. “That you’ve been grumpier than usual.” 

I dropped my gaze to evade hers and observed how her hand stilled on top of Jenner’s head. My own head felt heavy, my chest tightening, as I recalled that day on my motorcycle. “It’s amazing what goes through your mind when you think you’re about to die.”

I felt her grip tighten on my hand. “Do you want to talk about it? Or I can just sit here with you.”

She scooted a little forward towards me, her thigh occasionally brushing against my calf. Jenner whined at her sudden movement, but relaxed his head back on her lap once she stopped moving.

When I shifted my gaze back to her, her frown had settled on her face. Her eyes held me captive, searching mine for answers only she had the capability of finding. 

I’d been able to put up enough walls over the years to where no one could read me. But with Zyra, my walls had become ineffective, and she had been able to read me as if she were diagnosing a patient. She had slowly chipped away at each brick until I was able to be in a space of vulnerability. It was unsettling and out of my comfort zone, and I was resistant at first. Overtime, as I’d begun to open up to her, I realized she had become an extension of my comfort zone. Her perspective and opinion mattered more to me than anyone else’s. Even just having her silently at my side brought a sense of peace I’d never expected or experienced. I’d come to trust her, to need her, and—most importantly—to open up to her. She mattered to me more than anyone and that was because I loved her. But the true surprise was that she loved me, too. 

_Love_ was a word I never thought I would ever use to describe a feeling. The irrationality associated with the concept held no meaning to me. I dismissed the idea as easily as I dismissed an intern for their utter incompetence. Where was the evidence that love was real? Zyra gave me that evidence. It took nearly dying for me to be able to express the actual words, to believe them, and to no longer deny them. 

And in that moment as she sat with me in my room, my love for her was as certain as the broken bones in my arm. It was that love that helped me open up to her about my feelings related to the accident. There was a part of me that knew that the intensity of my pain would decrease if I told her the truth about my feelings, if I confided in her as she did with me previously.

It was our promise to each other: _We’d always be there for one another._

“When I believed I was going to die,” I began, “I saw everyone.” 

She blinked a few times at my statement. “Everyone?”

“Everyone who’s mattered to me in my life. It made me realize that… I did matter to them. Dad. Naveen…” 

She moved her other hand from on top of Jenner’s head and clasped it around my large wrist, as far as her fingers could wrap around it. My lab’s whining continued, but it didn’t sway her from me. She usually had always placed her hand on top of mine to comfort me, but the hold from both her hands felt more protective in nature. It’s not something I was used to feeling from anyone. Since the accident, I’d felt as if I’d been drowning, unable to break through the surface for at least one gasp of breath. My lack of control over even the basics of my daily routine had left me weak and helpless. 

Zyra’s explicit expression of her protective nature over me made my pulse race with my initial reaction being one of embarrassment. I wanted to reach over with my opposite hand and enclose it over both of hers. But the weight of my cast felt heavier than usual, and my arm sunk into my thigh, feeling suddenly immovable. My mind was telling me, _Protect her instead_ , but my heart screamed, _Let her protect you right now_. 

I listened more to my heart than to my mind.

She uttered my name in a broken whisper and held me with her warm gaze, as I continued expressing my feelings. 

“I should have only felt that, feeling mattered, but I didn’t. I was left with the overwhelming feeling that I had failed each and every one of them.” The words nearly caught in my dry throat. “I was going to leave this world knowing that I… I…” I could feel tears lining the edges of my eyes. Zyra gently squeezed my hand, silently encouraging me to continue. “That I would leave things unresolved with some colleagues I respect. That I would never be able to forgive myself for giving up on Naveen. That I would never be able to apologize for always hurting Dad. That I would never be able to fix things with you and tell you how much I…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, even though we had confessed our feelings to each other the other day. There was still a lot of regret I held for not doing so sooner.

“Oh, Ethan.” She leaned forward, one hand still gripping mine, while the other cupped my cheek. Jenner appeared to have given up and moved his head from her lap, laying it beside her instead. I closed my eyes the moment I felt her soft touch and leaned into it. I couldn’t look at her. I felt ashamed by my regrets and the fact that they, not love, would have been the last thing I would have felt if I had died.

“I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.” Her thumb caressed along my cheekbone, but she didn’t say another word. 

I swallowed hard at her words, hoping to swallow back my tears before they even had a chance to fall. She’d never seen me cry. I also didn’t remember that last time I fully cried because alcohol helped with keeping it all at bay. But right then, one small word or one small look or one small gesture could have broken my composure like a dam breaking. 

“But Dad. I continue hurting him. I’ve just been angry at my situation and taking it out on him. All he’s trying to do is help me, and I just push him away.” I turn my head away from her to stare out the window. I don’t feel deserving of her comforting touch.

Her hand moved from my shoulder to my chin. She gently stroked my beard before turning my chin so that our eyes were reunited. “Ethan, your dad loves you. I’m sure he’s so worried about you. I know I would for my own child. I would be in so terrified seeing my child suffering and knowing I couldn’t help them. I would be worried out of my mind seeing them in so much pain.”

“But I’m the one causing _him_ pain. Dad is a good man, but all my life I’ve resented him. His continued love for my mom made me feel like I didn’t matter. And he never challenged me. I worked hard, hoping that perhaps he would acknowledge my accomplishments and show that I mattered to him. But…”

“But what?”

“I’ve been too set in my ways to recognize that I _do_ matter. I was wrong because I never took the time to understand him. I held different expectations on what it meant for me to feel mattered. It’s why I took to Naveen more as a father figure than my own dad. If someone doesn’t meet my expectations, I tend to push them away. And I… almost did that with you because of Gwenyth.” I closed my eyes, shame building up inside me. I couldn’t bear seeing Zyra’s reaction.

“Look at me, Ethan, please.” She gently tugged on my beard. I opened my eyes into narrow slits, tempted to downcast my gaze, but I couldn’t look away from her. “The decision wasn’t personal. I did it for Edenbrook, for our patients,” she said with a gentle softness in her voice.

“I know. And I couldn’t be more grateful and proud of you for holding on to your convictions.” I sighed. “But I took it as a personal betrayal at first. I was so angry with you.”

“It seems like you took your dad’s love for your mom personally, too, and saw it as a betrayal. Maybe that’s where some of your deep-seated anger comes from as well, not just from your mom leaving you.”

The air in the room suddenly felt colder as I pondered the accuracy and truth of her words.

“Dad, he’s always been there for me, never giving up on me. And I… I had given up on him. What kind of a son does that make me? I’m always the common denominator in all of the failures in my relationships. That’s what the accident showed me.” My voice quivered as I spoke.

“It seems the accident brought forth a lot of hard truths for you. But you’re still here, Ethan, and that means that you have time to make things better with your dad and with those who matter to you.” Her eyes began to glisten with tears, but she held a small smile on her face. “You are with me, and I think we’re slowly making progress together.”

“I still haven’t forgiven myself for what I did to you. I’m so sorry, Zyra.”

“I know you are, and I forgive you. You just have to start forgiving yourself.” She continued brushing her fingers across my cheek tenderly, with her gaze never leaving mine for an instance. “I told you this once before—‘forgiveness can wait.’ But I think now, you need to learn to forgive yourself sooner rather than later.”

“…Sooner rather than later,” I repeated, thoughtfully. 

“You should tell your dad what you told me. It might help.”

There was an almost hopeful glint in her eyes. I turned my hand over, now holding her hand in mine. 

“Zyra, thank you. I don’t think I ever tell you that enough.” I tenderly ran my thumb along her knuckles, wanting to comfort her instead. “I didn’t ask how you are. Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah.” She casted her gaze down and began stroking the inside of my wrist with her finger. Her eyes darkened, and I could see her pain seeping through them. “Just feeling the same helplessness. El is getting a bit stressed balancing everything, so I think David is trying to work out a way to go down and help him out for a couple of months.”

“That’s kind of him.”

“Yeah. I just wish I could do more sometimes, but maybe I can talk to my boss about taking a weekend off to go down to help out.”

“I’m sure he might be open to that idea.” 

We affectionately exchanged small smiles, as we let the meaning of the words settle between us. 

“Speaking of work, um,…” She gently slipped her hand from my grip and began petting Jenner. “I’m looking forward to having our leader back, but no rush.” She tried to hide some discomfort behind a smile.

“Is this about Hirata? Naveen has informed me on some things, but is there something I need to know?” 

She didn’t answer me, but paid attention to Jenner rolling onto his side and snuggling up against her thigh. My lab let out a low-pitched moan of contentment as Zyra rubbed his belly. 

“Zyra, you can tell me,” I said in a steady, but firm voice, hoping to get her attention diverted back to me. 

“Actually, I don’t know if I can.” She continued rubbing Jenner’s belly as an obvious distraction from telling me the truth. “What if I just want to confide in you as my… friend, not as my boss? I don’t want you to take some action at work based on what I tell you in friendly confidence. How do we work on that type of balance?”

“But if it’s something serious—”

“It’s not,” she cuts me off. “Everything’ll be fine when you get back. It’s really nothing. It’s just your importance to the team and as my mentor is deeply felt in your absence. That’s all.” 

“Zyra…” I heard a hint of frustration in my tone. 

I couldn’t help but feel hurt that she wasn’t opening up to me. But wasn’t that what trust meant? Being comfortable enough to open up to another person and show them your complete vulnerability? I had to remind myself that I hadn’t yet fully regained her trust. I had to accept what she was able to give me and be there for her when she did, as frustrating and painful as this distance could be.

Then there was the conflicting dynamic of our positions. It was easier to separate personal from professional life at work, but what about outside of it? There was truth behind what she said. If I weren’t her boss, any personal relationship would be easier to manage. But since I was her boss, it was still complicated. And if we were to eventually decide to date, more complications would be added to the mix. Anything in relation to an _us_ would never be easy in our current situation, but it wouldn’t be impossible. If she wanted what I wanted, then this time, I would do anything and everything to make it work. I’d be damned if I ever lost her again. 

She suddenly stood. “Well, I can’t stay long. I’m sorry, but we’re having this goodbye party for Rafael tonight. He’s leaving for Brazil on Sunday.”

“Aveiro? I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. It took us all by surprise.” She bit her lip as if something else was weighing on her mind. She went to retrieve her coat. Jenner’s eyes popped open and he rolled onto his stomach the moment she was no longer at his side. “I’ll be back tomorrow after I finish some rounds.”

“You’ve been visiting all week. Dad’s here. I’ll be alright.”

“Well, if you’re to return to work on Monday, you need a lot of TLC,” she said as she slipped on her coat. 

I chuckled softly, nearly forgetting how her avoidance had become worrisome. “Doctor’s orders?”

“Yes.” She returned to me, pulling a pen from her coat pocket and waving it at me. “But just in case something comes up.” She sat down on the arm of the chair and motioned towards my arm. “Let me see your cast.”

Jenner tilted his head as he observed us. He looked as confused as I felt. 

“What nefarious idea do you have plotting away in your mind?” I asked, as I hesitantly offered her my arm.

The click of the pen shocked my nerves into a panic. Was I going to regret this? 

“Why Ethan, don’t you trust me?” She feigned a wounded tone in her voice. She rested my arm across her lap and began writing something on the inside curve of the cast near the crook of my arm.

“Zyra, I can’t return to work with writing on my cast. It’s highly unprofessional.” My arm started to tremble, but Zyra patted my hand to help me relax.

“No one will be able to see it but you. Promise.” 

I watched her with a curious intensity, but I couldn’t see what she was marking. My impatience forced the blood to rush through my veins, making my temples throb. When she finished, I thought I would have felt relieved, but my strange reaction was one of amusement. My arm was in a cast and I was allowing someone to write on it. I heard myself scoff softly at the thought. I’ve seen various degrees of expression on patients’ casts over the years. The sentiment behind it functioned more like a get well card. There were signatures, personal messages, inside jokes, both appropriate and inappropriate drawings, and even stickers. I’d signed a fair share of my own, but I’d never been on the receiving end. Zyra was changing that for me, and she was the only person I trusted to even do it, albeit discreetly. 

I tried reading the writing, squinting as I did, but it was too small. At least she’d kept her promise—no one would ever be able to tell. I put on my reading glasses, and the moment the text came into focus, it was if I had forgotten how to breathe. 

_YOU MATTER_ , it read. 

“In case I’m not around to remind you.” She kissed me softly on the lips, overloading my senses with her warmth that covered my skin like a blanket, the taste of mint and coffee on her tongue, and the subtle sweet vanilla scent from her skin. I gently cupped the back of her head to hold her against me. I wasn’t ready for it to end. _I needed her_. 

I nearly groaned when she pulled back, her lips only an inch away from mine. Her eyes fixed onto mine, and they had softened with a loving twinkle in her delicate brown irises.

“I should go before we get too carried away.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then ruffled the fur on top of Jenner’s head. “It was great to meet you. Keep an eye on this one for me, ok?” My labrador barked in response, and Zyra laughed in sheer joy.

Before she left, she paused and turned back at me, saying ever so kindly, “Talk to you dad.” Her smile grew a little as she looked at me, but once she closed the door, it—and she—were gone. Jenner jumped off the ottoman and ambled after her. He wildly sniffed under the door as he whined like a child.

“She’s gone, boy.” My sadness formed as a large lump in my throat. I glanced down at the writing on my cast. The meaning of the words made my chest feel tight and heavy. My thumb subconsciously began running across the words, acting as some soothing remedy to the pain of all of my regret. 

Jenner’s loud whines continued filling the room. They’d become unbearable to hear. “Stop. She’ll be back.” My dog pawed at the door, his high-pitched crying never ending. “Stop it!” I yelled, more furious at myself than him. He sat obediently facing the door, but his head was bowed as if being punished.

I stumbled as I got up only to stumble a bit more as I met Jenner at the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I sighed and then caressed along the base of his ear, his favorite spot. His head tilted into my hand. He looked up at me with his wide, black eyes as if accepting my apology. 

The moment I opened the door, he ran out, too fast for me to catch up. 

“Whoa! You need to go out?” I heard Dad say to him. 

I found them both in the living room, Jenner pacing around as if looking for something.

“He just misses Zyra.” I leaned against the wall on my left side. I was tired of sitting or lying down. 

“Ah.” Dad nodded from the couch, watching him. “I don’t blame him. She leaves a great first impression.” He smiled at me over his newspaper.

“Dad…” My voice quivered on the single syllable. 

“What is it, Ethan?” He placed his newspaper on the coffee table. “Are you alright? Do you need more pain medicine?”

I shook my head, my jaw clenched. “Dad, I’m sorry about today.”

“There’s no need for that. Everyone deals with their pain in their own way.”

“No, Dad…” All my regret and anger towards my dad, all of Zyra’s words, all of the replays of my life in my mind built up in my chest as the force that finally made the dam break. “I’m sorry for ever giving up on you when….” My head dropped into my good hand as my sobs began to fill my palm. “When you never did.”

I felt my dad embrace me in a tight, protective hug, as everything—all the effects of the accident—flowed out of me in 26 years worth of sobs. Was this the hug of a father? I wouldn’t know because I pushed him away too often. 

That night we were finally able to talk. I told him everything I told Zyra—and more. Earlier that week, Zyra and I became closer. But by the end of the week, my dad and I did. I had to start righting the wrongs with two of the most important people in my life, and if it weren’t for the accident, I don’t know if I would have had the courage or clarity to know where to even begin.

Now, I’m sitting across from Dad outside of my secret coffee shop near Edenbrook, sharing in an open conversation. The sky is clear, the sun bright and warm. The weather complements the serenity I feel when being with my dad. I wouldn’t have been able to do this a couple of months ago, but Dad and I are learning to understand each other better.

Jenner is sitting beside me, his head resting in my lap. My thumb absentmindedly runs across my skin near the crook of my arm where my cast used to be. I chuckle at something Dad says, as we both drink our coffees. No matter what I recommend, he’s content with his plain, black fix. I stick to my Vienna.

Without warning, Jenner runs from my side, barking down the sidewalk. Before I rush to chase after him and curse under my breath for taking him off his leash, I see the reason for his swift departure. All I can see is the back of him, his tail swinging like a pendulum. Zyra is knelt down, petting him.

Suddenly, everything brightens at the sight of her. 

She stands up, approaching us with Jenner nearly jumping at her side.

“Hi, Alan. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Dad’s just checking up on me this weekend,” I explain.

“Oh, that’s great! And you brought Jenner, too.”

“He’s obviously missed you,” Dad tells her. 

“Well, the feeling is quite mutual.” She looks adoringly at my overly excited dog and continues petting him, smiling as she does.

That pang of jealousy doesn’t flood my stomach this time. I then notice her bag slung over her shoulder. Then it hits me. 

“Oh, shit. Zyra, I’m sorry. I totally forgot we were meeting today.”

She waves a hand at me. “No, it’s alright. We can do it next week.”

“Did I mess something up?” Dad asks worriedly.

“No, not at all. Ethan’s just been tutoring me for my board exams once a week. Missing a week of his rigorous tutoring sessions won’t hurt,” she says laughing.

“Ethan, son, what are you putting her through?” Dad joins in her laughing.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You two, I swear.”

Zyra places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. “I should let you two go. I have to get back in an hour, if I don’t get paged.”

“Zyra, before you go, why don’t you join us for bowling tomorrow night,” Dad offers.

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but my schedule is so hectic right now. Can I think about it and let Ethan know?”

“Of course. Hope you can make it!”

Zyra waves a goodbye, but her gaze lingers on mine for a long moment before she leaves. We haven’t confirmed anything about us with Dad, even though our affection for each other is quite obvious around him. As much as we wanted to kiss each other right then, we keep our more intimate gestures out of view. 

Jenner tries to follow her, but I hold onto him as I hook his leash onto his collar. I stand up and hand the leash to Dad. 

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to go buy her a coffee as an apology.”

When I enter the building, I see her waiting in line behind three customers. I sidle up beside her, placing my hand on her back and rubbing it. I feel more muscle than bone when I do. 

“Hey, stranger.”

I lean in close. “I’m sorry I forgot.”

“You never have to apologize when it comes to family.” 

We look at each other and smile in earnest. 

“Well, at least let me buy you your coffee to make up for my ditching you today.”

“Just a coffee?” She says with an amused smirk.

I fold my arms across my chest, stare at her, and then chuckle gently. “Get anything you want. My treat.”

She smiles at me in appreciation and then takes my hand. I let out a quiet sigh at the newfound joy she brings me. This is how the atmosphere has changed.

As we move up silently in line, I turn to her and say, “You should come tomorrow. We haven’t properly had time together since you became Chief Resident.” I squeeze her hand. “If you’re anything like me, you need to be persuaded to take a break from working. With your Chief Resident duties, your junior fellowship, your studying, and your resident duties, it doesn’t hurt to take a few hours off.”

She bites her lip in thought. 

“I’m just afraid of getting behind, you know? But it does sound like fun, and your dad is pretty awesome.” She leans against me, her head casually falling against my shoulder. “And I’ve missed you. It’s just been boss, mentor, tutor lately. No real Ethan time.”

I brush a gentle kiss across her forehead. “Ethan will be there.”

She smiles widely in an apparent approval. “Okay. Text me the time and address for bowling. I’ll meet you there when I finish up some things at work.”

Before we can exchange any further words, it’s our turn to order. Zyra orders her usual Espresso Romano and a sesame bagel with cream cheese. It takes a few minutes before her name is called for her drink, and I go with her to her table, carrying her food for her. I wait until she gets settled and then kiss her goodbye.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” she asks.

“Too long.” I recapture her lips before finally parting.

“Looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Me too.”

* * *

“Do you know what size ball Zyra uses?” Dad places his personal bowling ball into the ball sorter. He sits down, pulls out his shoes and special bowling gloves, and puts them on.

“I’m not sure. She’ll pick one out when she gets here. I already got her a pair of shoes.” I finish lacing up mine.

“She must be pretty special if you know her shoe size,” Dad gives me a knowing look with a wide grin. 

“I never denied that she was, but I am a diagnostician. It’s my job to notice such things.”

“Like a ring size, too?”

My head whips up so fast, I hear a crack. Dad had never made such a comment about any of my previous girlfriends, not even Harper. But Zyra isn’t even my girlfriend. We aren’t even dating. We are just two people trying to figure our shit out together. 

I try to keep my expression serious, my shock hidden behind a slow breath. “I’m going to go grab a ball.” I walk along the rows of racks, pretending to search for a ball. The embarrassment of the question still hangs over me, keeping my mind distracted. 

“Hey, stranger.” That greeting will never get old. I turn around and am greeted with the warmest and kindest smile. Everything already feels healed, my heated emotions tamed. “Looking for a ball?”

“You, actually.” My arms encircle her, one hand on the small of her back. I feel her body relax against mine, and she returns the embrace. “So,” she begins, as she pulls back and looks up at me, “do you need help picking out a ball?”

“No.” I pick one up. “Already have mine.”

She looks at the number on the ball. “You sure you can handle all that weight? Your arm strong enough? You only got your cast off a couple of weeks ago.” She scans the selection on the rack and chooses hers.

“I’m not a fan of others underestimating me,” I say, clearly disgruntled.

“Who said I was? I was just concerned about this.” She traces two digits up my right forearm. The touch sends goosebumps up and down both of my arms. 

“Still looking out for me, I see.”

“Always.” She affectionately nudges me with her shoulder and saunters off towards Dad.

I follow behind and watch her greet him with a big, wide hug. We order some beers and finish setting up. I’m hovering behind Zyra as she toggles with the touch screen monitor.

“Okay, so in my family, we put in nicknames. What name would you like, Alan?” She looks over her shoulder at him. 

“Oh, how about the name of my bowling team, the Golden Boys.”

“That’s perfect!” She types in _Golden Boy_. 

She then adds my name, or rather nickname, and _Dr. Terminator_ appears on the screen. My jaw clenches as I hear Dad laughing. 

“What did Ethan do to deserve that name?” Dad asks.

“Oh, he’s a pretty demanding doctor. Gets all the interns quaking in their shoes. Even some of the attendings!”

I roll my eyes. “You two need to stop sharing my secrets with each other.” I lean over her shoulder to type in her name, _Rookie_. 

She turns her head and kisses me on the cheek… in front of Dad. My body becomes tense and burns a scorching hot. “I miss you calling me that, by the way.” 

I’m too flustered to respond. I clear my throat and walk to my seat to sit down. “Shall we start?”

Dad’s up first. Zyra takes the empty seat next to me and sips on her beer.

“Dad started bowling for exercise after he had a mild stroke. Now, it’s pretty much his pastime. He’s made some close friends because of it, too.”

“I didn’t know about the stroke. Is he okay?”

“Yes. It was years ago when I was in med school. We’ve kept to his diet and exercise well since then.”

She releases a sigh of relief and places her hand on my thigh, gently rubbing it. “I’m glad to hear that. So he must be a pro? Semi-pro?”

“Just watch.”

Dad throws his ball down the lane. It rolls to the right and changes direction in an impressive curve, sending the ball straight towards the center for a strike. He claps his hands together before he turns around.

“You’re up, Dr. Terminator.” He smiles, returning to his seat and giving Zyra a thumbs up. 

She stands up and gives him a high five. “That was amazing! You are definitely gonna give us a run for our money.”

“You haven’t seen Ethan play yet.” 

I position myself, the ball in my left hand. I aim and let the ball sail across the lane, straight towards the middle pin. Strike! I turn around and feel the edges of my lips twitch. 

Zyra’s mouth and eyes are wide open. “What? You’re ambidextrous now?”

I slide in next to her, draping my arm across the back of her seat. “Only when I play sports for some reason. But like you said, I need to build the strength back in my right arm,” I say with a smirk.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” She shakes her head, nearly laughing.

Zyra and Dad then look at each other and say in unison, “Pancakes!” 

I groan and take a swig of my beer, nearly emptying the glass.

“Speaking of pancakes, how about I grab us some snacks? Nachos? Fries? Hot dogs?” Dad begins to stand up.

“Nachos would be fine,” Zyra says and then looks at me.

“I’ll share with her, Dad.” I start to pull out my wallet. “Let me give you some cash.”

“Nonsense. This is my treat for humoring an old man with some bowling.”

Dad leaves towards the concession line. 

I glance up at the screen. “Looks like you’re up, Rookie.” 

Zyra walks backwards as she talks to me. “Feast your eyes on this.” 

I can’t help but smile at her confidence, adorable but extremely sexy.

I observe her as she does her first frame. When she lets go of the ball, it rolls to the left and straight into the gutter. She immediately crouches with her hands on her head. I chuckle as I get up and stand by the ball sorter to wait for her. She shyly walks towards me, her hands clasped in front of her.

“That was definitely a rookie move.”

She sighs, already looking defeated. “No, that was a Zyra-sucks-at-bowling move.” She pouts and drops her forehead against my chest. I chuckle as I rub her back.

“Let me help you.” I grab her ball when it returns and hand it to her. I stand behind her and place my hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have a curve to your roll. And the ball goes more to the left.” I gently push her a few steps to the right. “Now, use the arrows on the floor to help aim your ball. I would use the second arrow from the right. Your ball should head left and towards the pins.” My lips brush her ear, and I whisper in a low, husky voice. “ _Not in the gutter_.” I feel her shiver against me, smiling at her reaction. “Go get ‘em, Rookie.”

I step back and watch her use my suggestions. She has more confidence in her form when she releases the ball. As it rolls, it does exactly as I predicted, and all of the pins go down. 

“Oh my god!” She turns around, runs, and jumps at me. I catch her in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist. She hugs me so tightly, she could happily squeeze all the breath from my lungs. “I got a strike! I’ve never gotten a strike before.” 

Our laughter mixes together. “It was actually a spare, but that was excellent form.”

“I tend to always have such a skilled teacher.”

She feels so right in my arms, I could hold her like this forever. I don’t even care if we have an audience. When she drops down to the ground, I can’t help regret already having to let her go. 

“Looks like your dad’s up.” She points to the screen with _Golden Boy_ highlighted.

“We can wait.”

We go back to sitting down to enjoy our beers and each other’s company.

“So you and your dad seem to be doing well.” She takes a sip of her beer.

“We always got along for two people who are entirely different, but we’ve come to understand each other better. And I actually don’t mind going bowling with him. But…”

She frowns and turns towards me in her chair. “What is it?” She cups the glass in her hands.

“But when we talk about Mom, I still don’t know how to respond. Those conversations can still bring about tension between us.”

“Is she still trying to reach you?”

“Not as much as before, but after the accident, I’ve begun to consider the possibility of seeing her. But I’m afraid of what will happen if I do. The accident made me recall the love I used to have for her, but it’s always overshadowed by my own guilt. I used to believe that I was the reason she left. I wasn’t good enough for her or I wasn’t what she wanted. I felt I made her leave, and I think that’s why I’ve always been afraid of lowering my defenses around others. What if they leave, too?”

“Can I add an observation?”

I nod as I look wearily at her.

“Do you think there are times you self-sabotage your relationships because you’re afraid of letting others in fully? Kind of like self-preservation because you don’t want to get hurt again?”

I lean back in my seat, allowing her question to weigh on my mind. “Perhaps,” I respond with a near sigh. 

“It’s obvious those feelings of love for your mom haven’t gone away. They’ve just gotten lost amongst all of the anger you’ve carried around for years. And you have a right to feel angry, but you can’t let your anger control your life.”

I nod in agreement. “What should I do? Do you think I should take the chance and see what she has to say?”

“I can’t answer that for you, Ethan. But all I know is that people can change. If you give them a chance, they can show you that. And it can be a step in helping you deal with her leaving you and heal.” She places her hand on top of mine. “I used to believe you wouldn’t ever let me in, but look how far you’ve come. Even your dad says he’s seeing a different side of you, a more relaxed and happier side. If you can make improvements in your life, maybe your mom can, too.”

“What would I ever do without you?” I ask in awe of her.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

* * *

An hour later, Dad comes out as the winner, unsurprisingly. I drop off Zyra, and Dad and I return to my apartment. I take Jenner out for a short walk, and Dad has already retired by the time I return. My lab joins me on my bed when it’s my turn to sleep. I first read a few chapters of a book on the Apartheid in South Africa, some light reading before bed. I check my phone before I go to sleep, and notice a text from Zyra.

**ZYRA LEWIS: You were right. I needed a break. Thank you. 😘**

I turn off the lights and lie there, staring up at the ceiling and smiling to myself. 

I replay the night in my head, picturing the scene at the bowling alley. Zyra cheering on my dad. Both of them teasing me like it’s a game between them. Zyra sharing her greasy, stale nachos with me, which I’d happily do again. Zyra changing seats to sit by my dad and make small talk with him. Zyra flashing me her warm smiles periodically throughout the night. Dad telling her my childhood stories and giving her blackmail material.

Is that what a family is like… _my_ family? Is Zyra a part of my family now?

My mind lingers on that question as I slowly drift off to sleep.

I don’t know what time it is when I hear my name being whispered. Someone gently shakes me awake. My eyes open and adjust to the murky shadows of my room. I see Dad sitting beside me on the bed, and I reach for the drawstring of my bedside lamp. The moment the light touches him, I see that the color has drained from his face and the whites of his eyes are pure red. 

“Dad?” I sit up.

“It’s your mom. She’s… gone.”


End file.
